


It's All In The Pitch

by MrsCox



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Things About To Get Steamy, plus fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCox/pseuds/MrsCox
Summary: When Ginny Baker joined the Padres, she had no idea that baseball and Mike Lawson would be a package deal. Or how good the sex would be. Watch these two idiots navigate through a lot of great sex and an even better relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

If you asked Ginny Baker when she would be ready to put down her ball and walk away from the mound, she would say never. No longer brand new to the San Diego Padres, nothing would stop her, not her father's death or those voices, so noisy even within her own head, that screamed that she wasn't ready. Good enough. Unworthy to step onto the field and become something greater than a ball player in a baseball cap.

No, if you asked Ginny when she was planning to retire, she would laugh you out of the room, flanked by her teammates who had quickly become her family.

Then again, she's never been the best at predicting _extenuating circumstances_.

~~~

"It time yet?" Ginny glanced up from the spot on the ground that had become hers, blinking away the edge of panic creeping back into the corners of her mind. With a quick jerk of her chin, she felt the air leave his chest, spread through the room, fill her lungs, invade her space.

He shifted, falling to his knees in front of her, hands resting on her thigh. "Baker," he murmured, "I need you here with me."

An order, a command, some way to pass on control. She could do this. "I'm here." She nodded, jumping up to her feet and shaking out the nerves that had taken up residency in her fingers. "Although, you, without the beard, isn't that bad luck?"

Mike laughed, folding his arms across his chest as he cocked his head to the side. "Since when have you been superstitious?"

"Since everyone expected me to walk out there in some," she glanced down, "ridiculous dress with ridiculous shoes and not make a fool of myself."

"You don't need a dress for that." She snorted, brushing past him long enough to jam her elbow into his side. "Come on, you know you're going to go out there and wow everyone, just like always."

"This is different," another deep breath as she walked over to the mirror and reached for her lipstick tube. "It's important. She's important."

"Your mother loves you, and she still will even if you trip down the aisle."

"A freaking ball player and I can't even walk a couple feet." She swallowed, trying to force her fingers still, trying to shove past the pit in her stomach, trying to make this all _okay_. "Dammit!"

"You don't look that bad," Mike tried, giving her shoulder a squeeze as she threw down the lipstick, her chest heaving.

"My father would hate this," she breathed, curled black hair dipping into her face as she ducked her head. "This waste of time, me here and not out on the field." Her gaze darted up to him before dropping back down. "You, Blip, the team all here because of me, not doing what we should be doing."

"Which is?"

"Winning?" She cried, shoving away from the mirror and back into him. "Practicing? Doing what ball players fucking do?" She whirled around, too annoyed to notice the way he stiffened. Or the way his finger twitched, drawn towards that one perfect curl that he could tuck behind her ear. "Then again, if my father was here, then maybe my mom would've just kept on cheating and I'm sure he would have just _loved_ that." And finally, her head shot up, a decision made. "I can't do this."

Kicking off a shoe, she twisted around, trying to get to the zipper of her dress. "Baker."

"Tell Amelia that I felt sick." She let out a frustrated growl, her other shoe landing somewhere around the bed. "My brother will come looking for me, so if you see him, make sure he stays? At least one of us has to be here for her."

"Baker."

"God, and would you help me out already?" She paused long enough to wave at the back of her dress. "Or are you just going to stand there?"

"No," he slid in front of her, forcing her eyes up as he glowered down at her. "And neither are you."

"You're not my captain right now," she frowned, "you can't exactly tell me what to do."

Any other moment and he would have laughed at her expression. It was just so… _her_. Those hazel eyes narrowed into slits, pink lips pressed into a pout, shoulders squared and back straight so that no one could mess with her, even if they wanted to. And want to he did. Mess with her, kiss that glare away until there was only passionate Ginny left. The one that stepped out onto the field and let everything fade away but him and the grass and the ball.

Any other moment, it might have taken all that was left of his waning self control not to tug her into him and make her forget everything happening outside of this room. But that wasn't what she needed.

Hell, he barely even knew if it was what _she_ wanted.

He shook his head, focusing himself. "No," he stepped to the side just as she did, blocking her path, "I'm not your captain, and you don't have to listen to me. But I am your _friend_. And, coming from someone who's hurt a lot of people in my life, I can tell you that if you do this, if you abandon your family, it's gonna be a hell of a lot of work coming back from that."

She was ready to argue, to take his words and throw them back at him. Because, God, it was annoying when he was right. And he was. Right. Which meant that she would have to stand beside the woman that had cheated on the only father she'd ever had and dance with the very man that had helped that betrayal and be okay. Just for the night.

"You good?" He asked, waiting for that angrily thoughtful expression to clear from her face.

"Yeah," she nodded, dropping her hands to her waist. "Just, I need like fifteen minutes to finish getting ready, so would you…would you leave. Please?"

"Oh, um, you sure?"

She rolled her eyes, nudging him forward with a poke to the back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to cut and run, all right?" She opened the door, and suddenly he was on the other side, scanning her face for any lingering signs of uncertainty. "I'll see you out there, okay?"

"I'll save you a dance."

She laughed, falling back against the wall and watching him with a smirk. "I already said I would stay, you don't have to threaten me."

"Baker's got jokes," shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to back away.

"What can I say, if this whole baseball thing doesn't work out, maybe I'll head on the road, work on my standup." He hummed, giving himself a few more seconds, just a few, to watch her watching him. "And Mike?" She swatted at the hair resting on her cheek, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "Thanks, you know, for picking up. For coming here."

He felt himself soften, those last few traitorous parts of him that weren't devoted to her betraying him, aching to move back into that room. "Who else is gonna talk you down?"

He turned, saving that last image of her with her finger tapping against her lip and a giggle trapped in the air between them, before telling himself to walk away, each step harder than the last.

* * *

The wedding was beautiful. Her mother had always had good taste in everything but men, so every flower, every place card, every periwinkle coordinated ribbon, was wonderful. Ginny was wonderful, another ornament for her mother to push here and there, for pictures, to greet guests, to seem the happy, doting daughter.

And Ginny played the part, grinning as she gave a toast that betrayed everything her father had ever taught her, and dancing with anyone who came over between those moments where she let it set in. That the world was moving on, that her _family_ was moving on, like the worst thing hadn't happened and her father had never existed.

Still, it was almost too much when her mother walked up, champagne in one hand and a disappointed look on her face. "You could act like you're having fun, Gin."

"Fun?" Ginny stood, her grip tight on the table as she tried to remember to stay calm. It wasn't her day. For this one night, she could take whatever her mother threw at her. "You know what, you're right, I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she brushed a quick kiss against Ginny's cheek, looking so painfully happy. Ginny's smile stretched, despite the lump in her throat, despite the tears pricking at the back of her eyes. "I have to go say hello to some guest, but stay here. I'll tell you all about where Kevin is taking me for our honeymoon."

"Sure," Ginny nodded, waiting for her mother before sinking back into her chair, swiping at the only tear she would allow to fall.

"Need a drink?"

She twisted, smile settling into place and then loosening when she came face to face with Mike. "Or many."

He swallowed back a laugh as she snatched the beer from his hand and downed it, hand pressed to her mouth and eyes widening as she burped.

"Sorry," she giggled, forgetting to be upset as he huffed out a chuckle, dragging his thumb across the line of his jaw.

"Trust me, I've seen worse." He cast his gaze around the ballroom, jerking his chin at Tommy as his teammate headed towards the door. "Let's get out of here."

"Weren't you the one who told me I couldn't ditch this?"

"That was before I listened to that God awful speech."

"You'd know a thing or two about terrible speeches, right?"

Offering her a hand, he yanked her up with a quick pull. "Again, with the jokes."

"Mm," she glanced at him, eyelashes fluttering. "The rest of the team?"

"Most of them blew out of here as fast they could."

"But not you?"

Her skin was so soft. He'd always wondered, she was a pitcher for Christ's sake, but there wasn't a single callus there. And neither of them had let go. "I think Blip and Evelyn are still making use of the open bar."

Ginny's smile faltered, just for a moment. "You know, I bet my mother won't even notice if I'm gone."

Mike knew what he was supposed to do, how he fit in this relationship of theirs. _Don't say that Ginny. Your mother loves you, Ginny. She's your family, Ginny._ But her skin was so soft, and he bet anything that the only thing softer than her hands were her lips, and who could really blame him for what happened next.

"Screw her, Baker."

Ginny's mouth ticked down into a frown, uncertain of what to say. This isn't what they did, or what he did. He stopped her from making the bad decisions, from letting those thoughts, the ones she promised wouldn't take up too much space in her mind, take over.

"Excuse me?"

"You did your job," he shrugged, dropping his gaze so he wouldn't have to see what was in hers. "Not much more she could ask of you."

"You're right," his stare flicked back up, taking in the look of grim determination dancing across her face. "Screw this wedding, screw Kevin, and screw her for acting like this is all okay." She reached behind her, finding her cell phone and wallet, before squaring her shoulders. "You wanted to get me out of here?" She waited for him to nod. "Lead the way."

Mike reveled in the thrill of triumph…for all of five seconds. It was on the sixth second that he realized he was taking an extremely pissed off Ginny Baker God knows where, her hand still tucked in his and a tiny rebellion raging behind her practiced expression of calm. And it was around second three hundred, when she slid into his passenger seat and glanced over at it him that he came to terms with the fact that he had started this all, so he would have to take charge.

"Bar?"

She let her eyes slip shut, leaning back into her seat. "You even have to ask?"

He didn't, but he never had to when it came to Ginny. There was something in him, some part of himself that he'd fine tuned to her frequency, that knew there was something he needed to figure out with every curl of her lips and flinch of her shoulder. And had made a habit of being exactly what she needed.

"Keep up, Old Man," she cried an hour later, hips swaying as whatever crap the DJ was playing picked up. He downed the rest of his whisky with a groan, trying not to let it sink in. That he was on this hot, crowded dance floor, breathing in sweat and booze fumes with Ginny too close, way too close, for how drunk he was. She tossed her head back, making her vodka look like a shot of water, before twirling, her laughter carrying over the melody of the music. He'd never been good at this, trying to keep up with the rest of the twenty-somethings on the dance floor, but he was only out here to watch out for his teammate and reluctant legacy.

He chanted it underneath his breath as she fit herself to him, her fingers digging into his waist as she tried to help him find his rhythm.

He said it again and again when she turned, that ass that was more like a weapon sitting against his aching crotch and her hand slipping up along his arm.

He all but murmured it like a prayer when her curls brushed his nose and she licked tequila from his neck, so far gone to remember who he was to her, and why this was a terrible idea.

And when he finally called a cab to take them back to his place, he could barely think straight let alone drive, and she let out a sleepy yawn as she curled into him, he memorized that lie, hoping it would take the space of his brain now dedicated to the feel of her body molded to his.

They stumbled into his house, and she began that same dance from earlier. One shoe kicked over by the lampshade, the other landing on the stove, and the zipper of her dress almost halfway down her back.

"You can crash on the couch," Ginny mumbled with a wave of her fingers, moving blindly into his bedroom.

"Wait, but – "

She peeked back out, a finger to her lips and her eyes drooping shut. "Mike," she whispered, "shut up and go to sleep." The door swung shut, and that was that. Ginny Baker had commandeered his bed, and Mike would be sleeping on the couch.

He was too tired to get undressed, but sleep wouldn't be coming to him easily. After pushing his body for so long, he knew what it was saying to him and right now, it was screaming. He wouldn't be able to forget this, the feel of her curves and the drag of her tongue and…and now he wished he had taken her home because he had to do something with the energy swirling low in the pit of his stomach, but he'd die before he did that with Ginny in the next room over.

He groped around for the remote control, muting the screen and letting the lights wash over him. It wasn't the first night he'd searched for a distraction from these shitty feelings for the one girl in the world he couldn't have, and it wouldn't be the last.

Ginny couldn't decide which need was drawing her attention, her exhaustion or her thirst. She tossed and turned, finally forcing her eyes open and propping herself up on the pillow that didn't smell like her pillow. Her mouth tasted like garbage, and her head wasn't feeling much better. But the minute her feet touched the ground, she regretted it. Besides, something about the bed was so…comforting. The glide of the silk against her skin, the smell, like fresh soap, sweat, and something familiar and masculine, it was confusing her already muddled mind. She felt safe and warm but then why was her heart racing?

Water. She needed water. She slipped out of bed, padding from her room over to the kitchen. She shoved her dress down from where it clung to her hips, leaving it lying in a puddle beside the cabinet where she reached for a cup.

"Beer, beer, beer," Ginny murmured, rolling her eyes as she craned forward and shoved aside another six pack, "scotch, that's new." God, only Mike would have an apartment like this.

Mike! Her cheeks warmed as she remembered the last few hours, Mike's hands on her as they danced, the taste of sweat and tequila on his skin, his gaze hot on her right before she'd closed the door. And now instead of water, she needed a cold shower.

"Fuck," she hissed, letting the fridge door swing shut and pressing her forehead to the cool metal.

Oh, she was killing him. She, in some frilly blue and black bra and the, for shit's sake, tiniest thong he'd ever seen, was using every play in the book to kill him. He hadn't known what to do when she went sneaking into his kitchen, half naked and dazed, or when a quiet snort had passed through her lips. But now, with her eyes closed and the glow from the television casting shadows across her face, with his always waning self-control at an all time low…

Fuck, he actually had the balls to do something.

He pushed up from the couch, surprisingly steady on his feet for the amount he had to drink, and strode over to her, grabbing her before he could second guess himself.

"Lawson, I – " she started, a gasp ripping up her throat as he slid his hand along her waist, the other going up to trace along her bottom lip.

He gave her the length of ten heartbeats, waited for the no, the confusion that would turn quickly to rage, but nothing. She stared up at him, breath ragged and her mouth parted.

"God, Lawson, just do – "

His lips crashed into hers, catching them both off guard as she moaned into his mouth. He was wrong. Everything about her was soft, her tongue brushing against his, the caress of her touch along his cheek and the feel of her waist underneath his palm.

"Baker," he groaned, her legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted her up. "Fuck."

It was like he'd electrified each of her cells, set them burning around the edges as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her neck, over to the strap of her bra. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, swallowing back a moan as she buried her hands in his hair and yanked.

"Damn it, Baker," he hissed, his mouth slanting back over hers, a frustrated growl purring through her chest when she tried to touch more, more, more of him.

"Shirt," she panted between kisses, ripping at his buttons and smirking when they bounced along the floor. "Hope you weren't too attached."

He blinked, trying to clear his head as she made quick work of his belt, sliding it from the loops and letting it fall from her grasp. "I think I'll live."

Ginny hummed, hooking her finger over the hem over of his pants and tugging him forward. And Mike, God help him, he would follow her wherever she decided to take him. And for right now, it seemed that she was pretty committed to his bed.

He couldn't think of the last time he'd toppled onto his sheets in a tangle of limbs and frantic kisses, and he didn't want to. Because it was nothing compared to this, to Ginny underneath him, squirming as his hand brushed along the underside of her breast. And the wicked grin he felt creeping along his lips as he tweaked her nipple, soaking in the whimper she didn't realize she let out.

"What do you want?" He murmured, his chin resting on her stomach, his hand moving lower and lower, past her belly button, toying with the slight piece of string keeping him from the one place he was desperate to be.

She laughed, every part of her loose as he raised her legs and propped them over his shoulder. "You always play with your food?"

"Tell. Me. What. You. Want."

She sucked in a breath, her gaze trained to his as he flung her bra across the room. "That." He followed the path between her breasts, taking a detour over to her nipple and giving it a tentative nip. "Definitely more of that."

"What else?"

He slid down further, taking her thong along with him, until she was lying there, gloriously naked and all his. And smiled into the curve of her inner thigh because the usually unflappable rookie was speechless.

"Well," he started, scraping his teeth along the inside of her ankle. A shudder traveled up her spine, and he trailed the goosebumps ghosting along her skin. "Let me ask you this. What should Ginny Baker want right now?"

"You talk so much," she groaned, raking her hands through her hair.

"Thank you, Rookie, that is a good question." A soft kiss to the dimple on her knee, and then back up to her inner thigh. "You should want me right here," he swept his tongue along her clit, her answering purr shooting straight down to his cock. He flicked his tongue back and forth, tightening his grip on her thigh as she began to move, slipping a finger into her and finding his rhythm.

He thanked his singular focus for getting him where he was today. It was how he dedicated so much time to baseball all his life, how he lead each and every team he'd ever been on. And it was how he zeroed in on Ginny, on how one low blow on her clit and curl of his finger inside of her brought her right over the edge.

He crawled back up over her, hurtling his mouth down over to hers before she could catch her breath, kicking away his pants and thinking of anything he could to make him last. Because Ginny's hand was gliding past the hem of his boxers and wrapping around him, stroking in the same halting way he was breathing.

"Baker," he grit out, "you – you don't have to…"

"Get these damn things off," her voice left no room for argument, and he wouldn't even if he could. In the seconds it took her to push herself back farther onto the bed, his boxers were on the floor and despite everything that had just happened, it suddenly felt incredibly real. When she tugged him down between her legs, there was nothing stopping him from burying all of him into her and fucking her until they both couldn't see.

Ginny could feel it, the throbbing pulse through her skin, aching for him to stop treating her as if she would break if he touched her too long. And touch her he did, his hands all over, on her breasts, between her legs, pushing into her.

"Come on," she grumbled, her hips moving up to meet his. He was trembling, his dick just _right_ there, so close that when she slanted her hips he was just there, rubbing against her clit, driving her to the edge of insanity. "Come _on!"_

And suddenly she was sitting on top of him, his cock deep inside of her with his hands cupping her breasts and his face a mask of concentration. His thumb caressed over her nipple, and she began to move, her hips rocking forward before he decided to join in, his fingers digging into her waist as she rode him.

"Ginny," he gasped, her nails jabbing into his chest as he hit that spot that made her forget her name, his name, forget everything but this moment and the feeling stirring within her. "Ginny, _fuck_ , Ginny." He reached down and rubbed at her clit, and that was all she could take. Her muscles tightened as something deep within her went rigid and broke, shattering time and time again until the world righted itself.

"You gonna catch up?" She grinned, sucking at that sensitive spot along his neck. Mike grit his teeth, the last of his restraint disappearing as he let loose, thrusting up into her with everything he had. And after two years of desperately trying not to want her, he had a lot. She kissed him, giving him each answering groan and jagged yelp and he took it, frantic for all that he could get.

He welcomed it, the way his balls clenched, the way her smirk did sinful things to the pit of his stomach, and it was over all too quick, him falling apart with nothing but her eyes and her skin and her smell and fucking Ginny Baker in his mind and taking her with him.

Just as quick as his touch had lit something inside her, her exhaustion swept back into place. She collapsed to the side, sweat coating her skin and her body wonderfully sore.

"Baker…"

She twisted, tucking herself into his side and pulling his arm around her waist, her leg winding around his. "Tomorrow," she yawned, "right now, I'm going to sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny was hot. She kicked away the comforter, twisting to try and find a cool patch on her pillow to rest her damp forehead. Instead, her hand slapped against a solid wall of flesh, her confusion overtaking the discomfort of the humid air and warm sheets.

God, Mike's head was throbbing. He was a thirty-six year old man with knees like an eighty year old and a back that'd aged so quickly it was far past geriatric, and he had a hangover like a fucking frat bro.

"You're a freaking furnace." He flinched away from the noise, his eyes squeezing together in some vain hope to shut down the jackhammer going to town on his skull.

"And you need to not talk," he grit out, taking stock of everything that hurt. His throat was dry and scratchy, his stomach riotous at the idea of food, and he didn't even want to think of who he'd brought home last night.

Last night…

They bolted up at the same time, still so in sync, even in this moment, admittedly one of their worse. Ginny stared over at him, eyes darting over to his chest, less hairy as she'd always expected and worryingly bare, before moving down to her own.

She didn't wait for him to react, slipping from the bed with a steady stream of obscenities coursing through her head. She would be impressed with the amount of curses she knew if her brain wasn't currently trying to comprehend how _stupid_ she was as she but flitted around the room, collecting anything of hers she could find.

How could she? How _could_ she?

"Jesus," Mike rubbed his hand along his forehead, trying to manage his racing thoughts and pounding headache long enough to focus on Ginny. Ginny who was on her hands and knees, searching for her dress with her face twisted into a furious scowl.

Furious. She was furious. At him.

"Jesus," he said again, his stomach plummeting, "I think I might puke."

"I wasn't aware I revolted you," she popped up, hands on her hips and everything about her stiff, tensed to run.

Lurching forward, he prayed the room would stop swaying. Then maybe he could get her to look at him the way she had last night. Back at the club, when she threw her arms in the air and twirled, laughing that laugh he wished he didn't long to hear. "No," he spread his fingers over the comforter, a small part of him wondering how long the scent of her perfume would linger on his sheets, "I can't exactly drink like a twenty-five year old anymore."

"Right." She shook her head. "I guess you should, I don't know, get some coffee or water or…" she frowned, catching sight of her dress lying in the kitchen, a pitiful puddle of light purple. "Or close your eyes."

"My eyes?"

She glanced down, glaring at the way her body betrayed just how uncomfortable she felt. "I need to get to the kitchen, which means you need to stop looking."

And even with how heavy he felt, how he was operating through a fog, God help him, Ginny standing there with her arms folded over her chest and long legs crossed was about to get him into more trouble. Because, and he didn't think it was even possible, she was even more beautiful with bedhead and day-old makeup.

"Lawson," she snapped, already inching backwards. "Eyes. Closed."

"You actually serious?" When she didn't answer, he let out a low groan. "Come on, it's not like it's anything I haven't seen before."

She felt her mouth curl deeper into its sneer, and he could sense the dangerous shift in the air as her already black mood darkened. With a sigh, his eyes shuttered closed and he waited for her to return, trying not to feel disappointed when she finally came back, fully clothed and filled with a steely resolve.

"I'm heading out."

She was _leaving_? "Rookie," he called, jumping up and tripping into his boxers before going after her. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," she grabbed at her shoes, never slowing her stride as she walked towards the door. "We got drunk and had sex, that's all this was."

"Baker – " she threw a hand up, stopping him.

"We got drunk, we had sex" she repeated, emphasizing each word and leaving no room for argument, "that's _all_ this was. I don't want to stay here. I don't want to talk about it. And I don't ever want anyone out there knowing about what happened last night." The picture of Mike, grinning at her from between her legs and her control vanishing with that one look, popped into her mind and she couldn't help the shiver that traveled up her spine. "Look, just forget about it, okay? We're teammates, nothing more."

She left before she could let the hurt that flashed across his face affect her. He wouldn't get to her, even if with each new memory that came to her unwanted something that felt suspiciously like guilt slammed around her chest.

* * *

 

She didn't see him for two weeks. The first night after the wedding, he felt a twinge in his knee and found himself being shuffled along to some sport's doctor in Massachusetts, Al at his side reminding him to take it easy. The plan had always included two more seasons, and he wouldn't be losing that to anything, not the near constant pain from his back or a blown-out knee.

But, even as the doctor checked him over and said the same thing he'd been hearing for years, that his knees had aged out of the sport, that he would need to give up catcher is he wanted to step on the diamond again, he couldn't concentrate. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to go back, how he was supposed to practice with Ginny and play with her and win with her without thinking of how her skin had tasted. And how she was just as playful in bed as out of it, her sarcasm turning him on in a way that he hadn't thought possible.

No, he couldn't go back into the clubhouse this way, not when she'd made her feelings so abundantly clear. They were teammates, barely even friends now if their last conversation had been any indication. And he would need to wash the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, off of him.

"Yo, Ginny," she glanced up from where she sat beside Tommy, making sure to keep her smile in place even as Mike trailed behind Blip, his eyes on the ground, on the lockers, on everyone and everything other than her. "So, I'm rolling in here, parking my minivan like any other non self-respecting father, and in rolls Lawson with the _hottest_ girl I've ever seen."

Mike dropped his bag, his shoulders pulled tight back to his ears. "Blip," he murmured, "don't."

Blip rolled his eyes, bumping his fist against Tommy's before walking over to where Ginny sat. No, stood. She was standing? When had that happened? "Come on, Mike. I've got two kids, and Evelyn isn't exactly pleased with me at the moment," leaning forward, he cocked his head to the side, "I may have slipped a red sock in with her intimates."

"That'll do it," Tommy laughed, the two of them oblivious to the tension swirling between their teammates.

"Help him out, Mike," Ginny found herself saying, her words coming out unbidden and against her firm desire to keep them shut away, "gotta give him something."

"Rookie…" Mike shook his head, his knuckles white as his fists clenched. "It's not exactly clubhouse conversation."

She folded her arms across her chest, her legs carrying her closer to him even as her mind screamed no. That she was venturing towards danger, towards a decision that would lead to a finality she wasn't ready to commit to. "Mike Lawson," she purred, "and some random, it's a San Diego tradition, right? Although I'm surprised there was anyone left."

Blip's cackles filled the room, and soon the rest of the guys were there, taking part in the Baker/Lawson show, the back and forth that had become common to these moments where they were all together. But as Mike's eyes narrowed and his lip ticked down into a frown, it all faded to the background.

"You really want to do this?" He asked quietly, issuing a challenge that he knew they'd both lose. "Fine, Blip was right, she was hot, and dirty."

"Dirty?"

"Oh, yeah," he inched closer to her, his breath coming out faster, "just filthy, was a great time."

Blip clapped his hands down on Ginny's shoulders. "Damn man," he grinned, propping his chin up on the top of her head.

Mike felt his stomach roll as something flickered in her stare. Disappointment? Pain? But then she was shaking Blip off and giving him a tight smile. "Well, I hope you enjoyed it."

Tucking her hair back underneath her baseball cap, she left as fast as her feet would take her, her body trembling with anger. Anger at Mike and that smug way he'd looked at her, anger at Blip for even bringing that garbage into the clubhouse in the first place.

Anger at herself for caring as much as she did.

"Baker, wait," she sped up at the sound of Mike's voice, not exactly sure where she was heading but damn sure she needed to get away. "Hey now, you know my knees are shit, don't make me run."

Swiveling around, his hand landed on her waist just before he had the chance to smash into her. She shoved away from him like he'd burnt her, shaking away the shiver his touch had sent through her. "What do you want?"

He scrubbed his hand over his face, unsure of where to begin.

_I can't stop thinking about you._

_I want to be with you_ , _I think since the moment we met._

_I think I'm in love with you._

"I'm sorry, for everything back there."

"Why?" She fell back against the wall, leaving as much space between them as she could. "This is what we do. You sleep with someone and we all talk about how great it must be, being one of Mike Lawson's _girls_." She huffed out a laugh, cringing when it sounded bitter even to her own ears. "You gonna go apologize to Blip and Tommy too?"

"I didn't have sex with them."

"It's never too soon to offer."

"Alright," he could feel his patience wearing, had to swallow back the snap threatening to bubble up and out of his throat. "We ever gonna get back to normal?"

"There's nothing weird about me deciding that your sex life is none of my concern," she spat back, throwing her hands up as she backed away from him, "as long as it doesn't keep me from playing the game, I don't care. So, we done here?"

"Yeah," he sighed, dragging his thumb along his chin. She nodded, shoving her hands into her pocket and brushing past him. "I guess we are."

* * *

 

 _Hey Rookie, I missed you out today after practice, but I guess you were busy or something, I don't know. Amelia said you finally moved out of the hotel, found an actual apartment. I've got enough food for two if you're still up. It could be cool, me swinging by, us hanging out. Just, call me back if you get this._ Beep.

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, it became more and more clear that Ginny not only wanted to forget about that night with Mike and the subsequent disastrous morning, but of any relationship they'd had outside of baseball. His calls, growing fewer and fewer as time went by, were always ignored. She did listen to the voicemails though, in those moments when she was feeling weak and lonely.

* * *

 

 _Baker, you alright? That was a rough game for everyone, you shouldn't blame yourself. I was thinking of catching a movie, getting my mind off of it if you need a distraction, or a reason to get out, or…a friend? It doesn't have to be movie, I just don't want you to be alone. You know where to find me._ Beep.

* * *

 

It didn't help when Livan Duerte finally came on. It gave Al the chance to bring up another one of his terrible ideas for Mike. That same doctor from before, the one that had given him two options, retire or move to first, had had a moment of inspiration. He claimed he could give Mike another three years, but it would cost him a decent chunk of this season. Mike fought him on it until he didn't have anymore fight, and it was only from the sideline that he realized how bad things had really gotten.

"You think you can actually get it in the mitt this time?"

Livan swung his arm around Ginny's shoulder, and she didn't pull away. Instead she jerked her chin up, wearing her good spirit like a coat of armor. "You think you can actually catch one of me throws?"

Livan spun, planting himself in front of Ginny. "What would you give me if I did?" She blinked, surprised, and that's when Mike slipped into the room.

"Duerte," he all but growled, "Baker."

"Lawson," Livan replied, barely sparing him a passing glance. "You gonna be off the DL any time soon?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," Mike said pleasantly, "just enjoy your time on the field. It won't be lasting much longer."

He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing how _angry_ it made him, watching her treat Livan how she'd used to treat him.

Still, that tiny mutinous piece of hope he swore off of the last time she ignored the flash of his number on her phone flared as she called his name. He didn't stop, he had too much pride, but it was something.

* * *

 

 _Ginny, please. I just…(sigh), I don't know how to make this better. All I know is I miss how it used to be. I don't beg, and yet, here I am. Call me back. Please._ Beep.

 _Mike…stop calling, okay? I don't want this to be harder than it needs to be, but I'm not going to pick up. I can't._ Beep.

* * *

 

"Oh," Ginny gasped, walking into the gym and jumping when she realized she wasn't alone. Mike dropped the ropes, sweat staining his shirt and his chest rising as he sucked in a breath. "Sorry, most mornings I'm here by myself."

"I know," he reached behind him, grabbing at a towel and bringing it to his face.

"Right," her gaze slumped to the floor. It had been three months since the night of her mother's wedding, and they hadn't had a real conversation since. She didn't know how to handle this uncertainty, but then again, he hadn't been her constant in a long time. "Are you supposed to be doing that?"

He straightened out of his squat, schooling his expression so that she wouldn't see him wince. "I'm officially off the DL, so I'm gonna be back in the game next week."

She stepped towards him, her hand already lifting before she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be happy to have him back. To have to stare at him day after day and deal with those irritating feelings she hadn't asked for and didn't want. "That's great."

"Please," he snorted, "sound more enthused."

"I'm not sure what you were expecting," she went over to the treadmill, setting a quick pace, "a surprise party and some ice cream cake?"

"Well that would mean you would have to speak to me for more than a minute at a time. Hell, I'm not sure you even know how anymore, and I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, Rookie." She sped up, willing her heart to pound because of the running and not because of the way his words were playing through her head, taunting her.

She focused on the slap of her feet against the treadmill, the steady rhythm she could lose herself to most days. Days where Mike Lawson didn't saunter over to her and lean against her machine, searching her face for something she knew she wouldn't be able to give him.

"How's Duerte?" He finally asked. She upped the speed, determined to ignore him. "You know, I think I've got your type pegged." She was pushing nine miles, desperate to block him out. "Trevor, me," his voice trailed off, and she nearly stumbled, her hand darting out to steady herself on the arm of the treadmill. "And now Duerte."

"First of all," she panted, "fuck you. And second, there's nothing going on between me and Livan."

"Right," he hummed, kicking the power cord from the wall outlet. The machine stuttered off and Ginny whipped around to him, a glare settling firmly into place.

"What the hell is your problem?" She hopped onto the ground, scowling up at him and feeling her annoyance double when he glared right back at her.

"My problem? I wasn't aware I had a problem, Baker." He bent, crowding into her space, stealing the breath from her chest. "Whereas you've made it abundantly clear that you want nothing to do with me."

"And yet here we are," Ginny shot back. "I thought you would have gotten the message when I all but told you to stay away from me, or maybe when I stopped answering your calls, so apparently I haven't been _clear_ enough."

"Fine," he was grasping for his self-control, trying to reel himself back before he made things worse. "I'll leave you alone, but first you have tell me why."

She rocked back, her cheeks flushed. "Why?"

"I think it's a reasonable enough question. We slept together and all of a sudden you can't talk to me? Can barely stand to look at me? So what, hmm? What would freak you out so much that you all but shut down on me?"

"I – I don't –" She backed away, never getting too far before he was right there, prowling after her with grim determination. "Nothing."

"No, don't give me that." Her ankle skimmed along the wall, and she felt panic surge through her like a shot of adrenaline. She was trapped, stuck between a hard place and a harder conversation. "I know you, Ginny," her name tumbled from his tongue like a prayer, soft and reverential, despite the fury etched onto his face, "I think I know you pretty damn well, and I'm at a loss."

She pressed up onto her toes, trying to wriggle further away from him and all his demands. Because she would give it to him, despite her better judgment. With his breath tickling her upper lip and his gaze intent on her, she wouldn't be able to hide.

"Y-you kissed me," she stammered, tunneling down into her anger before he saw through her to all the doubts he'd planted in her the second his lips touched hers, "you should've known better, but you kissed me, and now I – I…"

"You what?" His voice came out low, thick with a promise that warmed her.

"I've been having a hard time," she admitted shakily, "and I want," she bit her lip, stopping the damage, protecting what little between them she still had from this monumental change.

"Say it," he urged her, his hands resting on either side of her head, his body inches from her, his eyes dipping down to her mouth, "damn it, Baker, say it or I don't know what I'll –"

"You." And there it was, the secret she went to bed with every night, the line she'd crossed and then swore she'd never do again. "I want you." She wasn't supposed to be this girl, the one who joined the team and screwed the captain and created all this _drama_. And that was who he was making her, especially when he had her pinned against the wall and he was looking at her with just as much confusion as she felt.

And then he wasn't looking at her, but surging forward, his teeth crashing into hers for one quick moment before she tilted her head, slid her hands along his neck, and kissed him like she'd wanted to every minute, of every day, of the past three months.

He wound his arms around her waist, crushing her to his body, and it was muscle memory when she fisted his shirt in her hands, aching for what she knew came next. He pulled back for a breath, and she kissed a path down to his neck, his skin damp and salty underneath her tongue.

"You know how crazy you've been making me?" He gasped, his hand going to down to the curve of her ass and squeezing. She dragged her fingers along his stomach, running over each bump and ridge of his abdomen and letting out a surprised squeak when he ripped her up from the ground. He scanned the room, pumping a fist into the air when his eyes landed on the therapist table.

"God, you're such a dork."

"Don't do that," he hissed, his grip on her tightening as her teeth grazed the shell of his ear. "I'll drop you."

She pulled back, arching an eyebrow at him. "Come on, Old Man," it sent a thrill through him, that nickname, the lightness of her words, the fact that she was here at all. "Here I was thinking you were stronger than that."

With a smirk, he dropped her to the table. "Need a demonstration?" He didn't wait for a reply, settling between her legs and kissing her hard enough to make sure she'd never forget. He wasn't going to let her slip away again, wasn't sure he could take it if she did. Pulling the hair-tie from her hair, he buried his fingers through her curls, still as soft as he'd remembered. And when she wrapped her legs around his waist, it was like falling right back where he'd belonged.

He could make a career of kissing Ginny Baker. He loved the slant of her mouth over his, loved the way she couldn't seem to help the smile dancing along her lips, loved the way she scraped her nails into his skin, leaving behind scratches he'd wear with pride. And he wouldn't have ever stopped kissing her if not for the slam of the door behind them.

They sprung apart on instinct, an unspoken message between them ending with her standing on the other side of the room, her hands combing the mess he'd made of her hair back into her ponytail.

"Al in a bikini, Al in a bikini, Al in a bikini," he murmured, willing away his hard on and only turning when it was manageable.

"Skipper in a two piece," her eyes flicked down to the front of his shorts, and damn, was smug Ginny making it hard on him. "That work for you?"

"Usually," he answered, "but then again, I can usually hold out until I'm at home, so this situation is a bit new."

She sidled up to him, one hand resting against his chest, her thigh slipping between his. "No hot and heavy make out sessions with Tommy?"

"We're gonna have to talk about this obsession you have with my non-existent relationship with Tommy."

She threw her head back and laughed. "You'd make the cutest couple in the padres."

He waited for her laughter to die away, and just after he'd stored that picture of her for later, her giggle looping around his brain like his favorite song, he stepped away, going back over to that table and jumping up.

She could sense the change between them, could see the exact moment he closed himself off. "Come sit," he pointed to the space beside him.

"What's wrong?" She lowered herself slowly, preparing for that moment of shock, where the realization of her mistake would overwhelm her and she would have to run.

Mike inhaled, long and deliberate, making sure what he got what he needed to say just right. "God help me, Baker, I like you. Maybe some part of my brain short circuited when you were called up, or I took one too many to the skull, but I really like you." Her head whipped up, eyes wide with an annoying amount of surprise. He'd just tried to lick the back of her throat and it hadn't been because he was _bored_. "So, unless we talk about this, all of it, I'm not interested. I can't handle having you for a night, or a few minutes at a time. And I get it if this isn't something you want. You're at the beginning of your career, you've got your no-ball players rules, and, even though I happen to be in the best-looking member of the team," she snorted and he bumped his shoulder into hers, "okay, fifth best-looking, I could see why you would want someone younger."

She opened her mouth, either to destroy him or make his day, but he stopped her. "Wait," her eyebrows knit together, but she pressed her lips together, "regardless of what you're about to say, there's no more of the last couple of months. No more ignoring me, no more disappearing all the time, and definitely no more screening my calls."

Standing, she swiped her hands along her pants before she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Her face split into a grin, wider than anything he'd ever seen. "As long as you're fine with keeping it between us, I think I'd be open to being friends." Eyes twinkling, she grinned as he skimmed a hand over the curve of her hip and tugged her close.

"You playing hard to get," he murmured, "it's sexy."

Ginny held out, her mouth just out of his reach. "And I guess, in addition to all that friendship, it wouldn't be awful, you and me."

"Duerte's gonna be disappointed."

She kissed away his chuckles, alcohol free and feeling normal for the first time in months.


	3. Chapter 3

"We're gonna need to see perfection from Ginny Baker to avoid what I would consider the biggest upset of the season."

Ginny glowered up at the announcers, despite knowing her face was being broadcasted around the stadium and into thousands of homes around the country. She could feel the pressure in her shoulder blades, formed around the beginning of the game and knotting tighter as she gave away pitch after pitch.

She'd been blamed for plenty since joining the Padres, most of it unwarranted. But if they lost this game, the one that would decide whether or not they'd be making it to the playoffs, it would be on no one's shoulders but her own. It shouldn't have gotten this close, and no one expected it to. No matter how good the Cardinals were, the Padres were the better team. And if they lost, if they lost…

No, she had to get her head on right, and this wasn't the way. She dropped her eyes, tunneling her attention until there was nothing but Matt Bowman, the Cardinals best hitter, and Mike. Mike, who had the spent the entirety of the game flinching every time her pitches had gone wild or she'd thrown a homer. No, focusing on him would most definitely not help her waning concentration.

"And, here's the pitch…" She felt it coiling through her, taut like a spring desperate for release, and then the ball was out of her hand and speeding towards home plate. Where it went wide. Again.

"Dammit," she swore, banging her fist into her thigh as she waited for Mike to crouch back down. Instead, he looked over at Al, who nodded. "Dammit," she growled again, taking a step back as they began the trek over to her.

"You know," the announcer continued, oblivious to the swirl of anger in the pit of Ginny's stomach, "this young woman has done some amazing things for this team, but there's something to be said about an athlete who can perform under pressure."

"Don't," she hissed once they were close enough, manager and captain alike watching her with guarded expressions. "I can bring this home, I just, I need a little bit of time."

"We don't have time, Baker," Al's gaze darted over to the scoreboard, and any indecision she was counting on from him disappeared. "You've done all you can do, it's time."

She felt them, the thousands of eyes on her back, hot and thirsty for blood. "Lawson," she twisted to him, hating that she had to beg for a chance to do her _job_ , "please." He softened, only enough for her to catch it, for her to feel a bit of the fire inside of her die away. And then he sighed.

"You're exhausted and this is too close, Baker. Tommy's all warmed up and ready to go." He tilted his head, staring at her in the way of his that made it impossible to hide. She was tired, like bone achingly drained, and she couldn't imagine standing on the mound and pitching again. But every part of her rioted against the idea of giving up, or letting all the people who thought she couldn't do it be _right_. "Come on, Baker." He murmured, his hand brushing against hers.

"Fine," she ground out, pushing down on the top of her hat, "yeah, okay, fine."

Mike nodded, regret cutting a path across his face.

"And it looks like that'll be all for Ginny Baker." She pasted on a smile, waving at the crowd, surprised to find that that small movement almost took everything that was left in her.

She went to the bar after the game because she knew she had to. The Padres had won, no thanks to the damage she'd done, and they were closer to the World Series than they'd been in the last decade. And she wasn't about to let her disappointment leak into everyone else's celebration.

"Hey Baker," Tommy came up behind her, giving her ponytail a tug, "you think if I asked you to throw me a beer, you could actually do it?" Her teammates stilled, waiting for her reaction to see whether they'd spend the evening laughing or kicking ass. And, like the good soldier she was, she squared her shoulders and arched an eyebrow up at him.

"I don't know, second-string. At least someone's asking me to throw anything. Ever," ducking his head, Tommy took the mocking in stride, batting away Blip's hand as he howled.

"All right, all right," Tommy grinned, "first rounds on me."

Blip clapped a hand down on Ginny's shoulder, and she felt herself unfurl, just the tiniest bit. "Anyone ever tell you about the game we played against The Blue Jays?"

"I don't remember asking for a story," Ginny accepted the beer passed to her, bringing it to her lips as he narrowed his eyes at her, "but I guess I'm gonna get one."

"I was my tenth game in," Ginny ignored the tug in her stomach as Mike sat beside her, his knee brushing against her thigh in a way that reeked of deliberateness, "and even though I knew we shouldn't have, our fearless captain decided that we were gonna go out the night before."

"He was totally bush league," Mike snorted, "a couple of shots in and suddenly the man forgets how to walk."

"So, first pitch of the game, McCall hits the motherfucker way out into left field. I go running, catching it right before I lose my breakfast all over my uniform." By then, the entire team was listening, caught up in the same memory. "I throw the ball over to third plate, and it's covered in vomit, gets on everyone in the play. We have to take a timeout because everyone's so damn grossed out. And to top it all off, we lose."

"I'm guessing I've never mentioned my incredibly weak gag reflex?"

Blip waved her off, grinning. "I'm just saying, yeah this game sucked, but you'll never767 have anyone call you Barf Sanders."

She laughed despite herself, tapping the neck of her drink to his. "I'll keep that in mind."

Raising his bottle, Mike called out, "To Barf Sanders," chuckling as the team echoed him. "I'm thinking Barfy should get the next round."

"I second that," Ginny smiled, bumping her shoulder against her friend's. Blip stood, doing nothing to mask his sulk.

"Fuck you guys, I ain't ever doing anything nice again," he grumbled, shaking his head as Ginny glanced up at him through her lashes. "And you better watch out for Evelyn if someone calls me Barfy again."

"I'd listen to the man," Mike warned. Blip nodded, somehow managing to brood as he walked smugly over to the bar.

"And while he gets the drinks," leaning forward, Duerte traced his bottom lip with his finger, his attention on Ginny, "anyone feel like dancing?"

Bracing his hands against the table, Mike made sure to keep his eyes trained to the television. He could feel Ginny shift closer to him, expecting an answer to a question that no one else could know she was asking. "Music's crap," he finally muttered, "but if anyone can do something with it, it's you."

She felt her forehead crinkle with confusion. But maybe it would be good, being out there, losing herself in the same body that she'd betrayed hours earlier. And Duerte was still her friend, something she reminded herself of even as Mike's jaw tightened and he slammed the rest of his beer back.

"Think you can keep up?" She squinted over at Livan, stretching up onto her feet.

"You tell me."

She moved over to the dance floor, resisting the urge to skim her hand along Mike's back, and biting back a laugh as Duerte grabbed her hand and twirled. "How good is your salsa?" He brought his mouth close to her ear, his voice hovering just over a purr.

"Almost as good as everything else I do," she replied smoothly, her hips swaying to the beat of the song. He fit himself against her body, leading her into a dance that soon felt as familiar as her next breath. Soon it all meshed together, the strobe lights, the pulse of energy coming from everyone on the floor, the thrum of the first beer, and then the next one, and then the shots she downed with Blip. She chased it, the few hours where she could be carefree and young and not dwell on how every one of her failures had an impact.

And it was around that moment where the room blurred around the edges and her face was flushed with warmth, that she decided who exactly she wanted to share this feeling with. Not Duerte, who was looking at her in a way that she wasn't quite sure how to deal with, or Blip, who'd been called home by Evelyn with the promise of weekend sex, not even all the different, and admittedly attractive, men tracking her every move. No, it was her silent catcher sitting at the table furthest from the dance floor, nursing a second beer and making sure she was always in sight.

But, even though she felt his gaze like an electric current, she didn't pay him any mind until she noticed the way her feet throbbed. She waved to the rest of her team, as sweaty and deliriously blissful as she felt, and then walked over to Mike. "I'm heading out."

He nodded, standing with a slight cringe, and slinging his jacket over his shoulder. "Okay, let's go."

"You don't have to come."

He arched an eyebrow, nudging her forward with a jerk of his chin. "As if I'd hang with any of these mooks." She stumbled on a step, and Mike was there, his fingers curling around her elbow, and his hand pressed to her back. "Besides, it's not like you can drive."

He ushered her over to his car, pouring her into the passenger side seat and jogging over to his door. By the time he slid in behind the wheel, Ginny was up and bouncing, her head bobbing to some melody only she could hear.

"Oh," she moaned, pushing her hands through her hair, "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed."

"To your place then?"

She glared over at him. "As opposed to?"

"Right," he gunned the engine, sending vibrations purring through her in that mocking way that _screamed_ Mike Lawson.

"Right," she parroted back, resting her forehead against the cool window and pretending she couldn't feel it, the tension settling between them, keeping her on edge. She waited to see if he would break their stalemate, but other than asking for her new address, their silence thickened.

He pulled into her parking lot and cut the engine. "Thanks," she bit out, throwing open the door and marching into her apartment. Gone were the days where Amelia forced security to echo her every movement, but in this moment, she sort of missed them. Because there was nothing to stop Mike from filing in behind her.

"I assumed the good night was implied," she tossed over her back, slipping her shoes off and leaving them by the shoe rack she almost never remembered to use.

"I'm sorry, Rook, is there a problem?"

Shimmying out of leggings, she left them in a bright pink puddle by the door of her bathroom. "You took me out of the game."

He mirrored her steps, his baseball cap flying from his wrist as he flung it past her couch. Then went his Padres jacket, landing somewhere near her pants. "You wouldn't have made it through."

"It was embarrassing."

"It needed to be done," he unbuttoned his shirt, and her gaze trailed his hands. "And you know that."

"Please," she scoffed, tearing out her hairband and scraping her fingers along her scalp. "I could hear your knees creaking from all the way over by home plate, and I doubt I was the only one."

He undid his belt, popping the button and letting his jeans fall, "I'm team captain, I make the tough calls." She cocked her head to the side, standing in front of him in nothing but her sports bra and a pair of boy shorts.

"And I'm saying that's fine and good night."

Mike glanced down, first at her miles and miles of bare legs, and then down at his own cupcake covered boxers. "Baker," he growled, "I'm not wearing any damned _pants_."

"That really seems like a you problem." She nodded over to the door. "Now I'm the one making the tough call. Good night, Cap."

Mike stared wide-eyed as she turned, an extra swing her in her hips as she walked into her bedroom and shut the door. "Ginny?" He called, reaching over and snatching up his jeans. "You can't be serious." Mike Lawson wasn't a patient man, there were few things he was willing to wait for, but for Ginny, he stood there like an idiot for longer than his self-respect would allow. And it was only when his face burned and his need for preservation refused to be held back any longer that he slid his shirt back on and backed away towards the door.

Ginny sat on her bed, fingers dancing along the dangerously soft duvet Amelia had picked out for her after Ginny had adamantly refused to go furniture shopping. And with every second that went by that he didn't come barging in after her, her will battled against her legs, which very much wanted to carry her back into the living room.

Finally, she bolted up, forcing herself to push aside the lump of defiance in her throat. She'd be damned if she let them get caught in this pattern, to be stuck in this push and pull where she shoved and he yanked right back and they got nowhere. No, she was done.

She flicked on her robe, grabbing for her cell phone, and walked over to the window overlooking the park beside her building. She hit speed-dial number one, her hand resting on her forehead. "Look, maybe I overreacted. Come back, okay?" She pulled her front door open, letting out a relieved sigh as Mike arched an eyebrow up at her, propped up against the doorframe and wearing his signature smirk.

"What took you so long?"

"How long were you going to wait?" She countered, her hip cocked out and her hair tumbling into her face.

"Longer than reasonable for a man my age."

Fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt, she tugged him forward, his mouth slanting against hers before she could get a word out. He backed them up, slamming the door shut behind them with a kick of his foot.

"I can't _believe_ you were gonna kick me out," he growled between kisses, giving her a gentle shove over the couch's arm and dropping his shirt back to the ground.

"Now you know how it feels," she laughed, pushing herself upright and sucking in a breath as he sunk down to his knees.

"Rookie," he said, his lips hot and insistent as he kissed his way up her thigh, "I'm about to do some real damage to these shit heaps I call knees. How about you save the smartass comments for later?" Her back arched as he bit at her skin, pulling a whimper from between her clenched teeth.

"Whatever you say, Lawson."

His eyes met hers as he pulled her underwear down, his movements deliberate and painfully slow. The corner of his mouth quirked up as she shot him an impatient look, and with a leisure that was bordering on infuriating, he pressed a gentle kiss against her clit. Ginny tensed, letting out a low hiss. "What was that, Baker?

"Yes," he raised an expectant eyebrow, "Captain."

He dragged his tongue along her cunt, his thumb sweeping along her clit and his other hand pressed down against her stomach. Ginny's eyes fluttered shut as she tried to make sense of the riot Mike was inciting in her body. Pushing her legs further apart, he licked at her, his beard tickling her already taut thighs.

"Oh," she gasped, her eyes springing open as she watched his hand snake up and graze against her breast. It was just the edge of enough, his mouth on her pussy and her nipples in his grasp, one right after the other pressed underneath his thumb until they were both hard and throbbing.

And then he slipped a finger inside of her.

"Sit up," he ordered, his voice dark and his lips shiny as he pulled back. "Ginny, sit up." The part of her that longed to please him considered his request, but she'd just about lost the ability to move when he'd sucked her clit like she was a lollipop. "Damn," Mike murmured, shifting forward and grazing his teeth along the mound of her breast, "gonna make me do all the work? Fine." Pumping his finger into her, he settled into a lazy rhythm, pulling further back each time and feeling each of her answering moans shoot straight down to his aching cock.

Ginny's head fell back against the couch as Mike slipped another finger into her, and then another. She combed through Mike's hair, reminding herself to breathe, even when her hips began to rock forward to meet Mike's thrusting hand, even when he leaned in to lick her as he fucked her.

"Bedroom," she finally wheezed, using that herculean strength her chosen lifestyle demanded and yanking away from Mike. "Amelia bought me this couch, and somehow I doubt this is what she had in mind when she said I should have guest _come_ over."

Standing, Mike tried to decide which part of him was in more need of attention. His knees, which screamed at him with each step he took, or his cock, which swelled at the sight of her body glistening with sweat and the way she invaded each of his senses, with her taste and her smell and everything else that was just so… _Ginny_.

He tried, he really tried to control himself, but he blinked and she was all spread out on her bed, her hair a halo spread out across her golden comforter. "Baker," he whispered, her name dropping from his lips in a husky, choked up mess. God, he wanted to touch her, and she wasn't making it easy on him. But he wanted to stay here, in this in between where he got to look at the parts of her hidden away from the world. With her leg hitched up and her chest heaving and his longing mirrored on her face.

"Well?" She arched an eyebrow, and he sprang forward, grabbing her by her hips and setting her over his face.

His hand tightened around her waist as she cried out, his mouth wet with her juices and his jaw sore. Her body had always been her instrument, and now Mike was pulling at each of her strings, tuning her until her vision blurred and her muscles sang and she was so _close_. He reached between her thighs, his tongue teasing her clit and his fingers driving into her, quick and unrelenting.

"Come for me," he growls, his words rocketing through her. "Come on, Baker," she could swear he was taunting her, "you know you want to." Heat like a forest fire pooled in her stomach and her world stilled, leaving only the ragged mewls crawling up her throat and the beat of her heart and the curl of Mike's fingers on her thighs.

Mike huffed out a chuckle, his hands sliding up to pat the small of her back before moving to nudge her off.

She shook away the lingering daze clinging to her, whipping around to glower down at him. "What are you doing?"

"I do enjoy breathing."

From the moment a wicked smile lit on her face, he should have known. "Anything else you enjoy?"

"Um, I don't – fuck, Baker!" She shot him a quick look that just screamed of devilish intent before dragging her mouth along his tented boxers. Teasing fingers moved along the hem of his boxers, sending a blaze curling through his veins, and she hadn't even touched him yet, not really. "You don't have to do this."

"I know," she purred, tugging his boxers down and letting out a low whistle as his cock sprang free.

He braced himself, but there was no world where Mike could've prepared for the feel of Ginny's mouth surrounding him in a tight, wet heat. Her head bobbed, taking him to the back of her throat before pulling all the way off.

"Ginny," he ground out, his voice rough as her tongue swirled over the tip of his dick, one hand braced on his stomach and the other pumping over the length of him in languid, even strokes. She pressed up onto her knees, ass in the air and her nails grazing along his balls, and God, even none of his fantasies could touch this. He yanked her back over his mouth, desperate for a distraction when her teeth scraped along him, pleasure mixing with the slightest pinch of pain that had him rolling his tongue over her clit without any rhyme or reason.

Soon, he couldn't tell which one of them was tumbling faster, his mouth moving over her pussy at the same haphazard rate as hers on his cock, only ever pausing to let out low moans that had Ginny's head thrown back and toes curled. He wanted to wait, to be balls deep in her before he came, but she was too good and he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Baker," he rumbled, the only warning he could give before he thrust up back into her throat, the pressure that had been building in the pit of his stomach unfurling in an explosion of static and white light. She lapped at him, his legs twitching at the sheer amount of need flooding through him. Because somehow she'd reduced him to this, a constant ache to be inside of her, to see her face as a second orgasm raked through her body, and she _would_ come again, he hadn't stopped being Mike Lawson after all. And damn it, if he didn't do something about the never-ending urge furrowing through his mind, taking route in his chest, he would go insane.

"Climb off," he murmured, sweeping her hand over her thigh before she swung her leg over his shoulders. She shot him a curious look, but didn't protest as they shifted, a reshuffle that ended with Ginny on her back and Mike tensed over her, his arms trembling on either side of her head and his hips hovering over hers.

"You ready?" He asked, one quick thrust away from finally, _finally_ , being inside of her.

She squirmed underneath him, huffing out an impatient, "why, are there previews I didn't know about?" With a cocked eyebrow, he sunk into her, a quick, jerking motion that had her sucking in a sharp breath. "Should I go," her voice broke off as she adjusted to the feel of him, "pop some popcorn?"

"Got any other wise ass comments?"

His hips began to move, and she groaned. "Hmmm," she answered, her eyes closed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Endless supply, get back to me in an hour."

"An hour?" He chuckled, her hips lurching up to meet his. "That's ambitious." He bit back a groan as her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

"If anyone can rise to the occasion, it's you." He dropped his lips to her neck, sucking and nipping at her neck until her skin buzzed.

Ginny would never regret the night of the wedding, even though she could pinpoint every intoxicated, idiotic decision she'd made. But, if she'd gone home herself, slipped into her bed alone, and seen Mike the next morning, then they wouldn't be here now, his body warm and heavy over hers.

Still, that didn't mean she was all that dedicated to hanging onto the memory of their drunken hook-up. Especially now that she could cling to this, the silken grind of their hips and the way her name fell from his lips when she clenched around him, helpless and reverential and thick with lust.

"Baker," he said haltingly, "I – I can't – "

"Then don't," she crashed his mouth down over hers, sucking in her cheek to keep from smiling as he moaned out curse after curse, his hands fisting in the sheets and his hips slamming into hers one last time.

"Fuck," he panted, his forehead falling onto her shoulder.

She hummed. "If that's your way of saying not bad, then thanks."

"You haven't begun to see not bad, Rookie." He said, pushing up onto his knees and winking down at her. His palms flexed around her waist, and with one last lingering kiss, he drove into her. She gasped, her eyes shuttering close as he pounded against her, his cock hitting the one spot that had her digging her nails into his back, desperate for something to tether her as her body stopped belonging to her. She was collection of nerves, all firing at a riotous speed that left her raw and chaotic and…and…

She cried out, lightheaded as wave after wave of near torturous pleasure raked through her, threatening to shatter her into fragments. Mike stilled, his mouth fitted over hers, swallowing back each of her keens. And when it finally ended, when her body became hers again, albeit immovably liquid at the moment, she scrubbed a hand over her face, smothering the swell of astonishment in the back of her mind.

Because…wow. It wasn't as if the score of Lawson groupies didn't make sense, but if this was the main reason his reputation proceeded him, then she wouldn't be surprised.

Mike collapsed onto his back, ignoring the incredibly annoying protests shrieking from his knees and watching Ginny. Ginny who, with her mussed hair and swollen, slick mouth that bordered on obscene, still had her eyes screwed shut. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and God help him, he felt his dick twitch. This woman, her affect on him, it would be the death of him.

"Verdict?" He asked, warmth rushing through his veins as her eyebrow curved up in amusement

"About average," she decided, her face a mask of seriousness before her mouth ticked up into a grin. "But exponentially better than not bad."

"Yeah?"

She laughed, turning her head just in time to see his answering smirk. "Yeah."

"That's what I'm talking about, baby." He raised his fist, and despite her sweat-soaked skin and wonderfully sore muscles, she tapped her fist against his. And then giggled, because of course he fist-bumped in bed.

Rolling onto her side, she considered him as he slid from the bed and padded away. "Here I was so sure those creaky bones of yours would have stopped working."

"You'd think, right?" He called from her kitchen, her ears perking up as her tap began to run. He walked back into the room, two cups in his hand and his smile soft. "Drink," he ordered, offering her a glass.

"Sir, yes sir," she replied with a salute, the water cool against her burning throat. Mike climbed back into bed, resting his back against the headboard and his gaze trained to her over the rim of his glass. She could feel her face burn under his scrutiny, and she chided herself for the awkwardness hovering around her. He pursed his lips, rolling his eyes before jerking his chin downward.

"Come on then, Rookie." She blinked, and he cocked his head to the side. "What, I need to spell it out?"

"No," she shot back haughtily, setting her glass down before crawling over to him. "I was coming."

"Right," he snaked an arm around her shoulders, and buried his smile in her hair as she nestled into his side. She perched her chin on his chest, her fingers tattooing different shapes onto his skin.

"If this was a game – "

"It's not."

"But if it was," she pulled back, an exasperated glimmer flashing in her gaze when he went to interrupt her again, "there would be rules."

"Rules," a chuckle thundered up his throat, warm in her ears. "Really?"

She frowned, straightening with her arms wrapped around her waist. "Fine, make fun."

"No," he tugged her back, "rules."

"Ground rules," she corrected him, "so that we don't mess things up. So that I," she stopped, chewing on her cheek. "Rules can help."

"Okay," he said slowly, "first rule. No bringing what's happening out there in here." She thought of her earlier anger, how thick and unyielding it had felt. Until he had given her his idiotically bright smile, and suddenly it hadn't mattered.

"And no bringing what's happening in here out there," she countered, the memory of his grimace during the game flickering through her mind. "Contrary to popular belief, you're not the center of the damned universe. If my head's not on straight, then it's my job to fix that."

"Duerte," Mike said, earning an arched eyebrow. "I get it, you're one of the guys, that doesn't mean everyone and their mother doesn't want to get in your pants. And the mother fucker's just smooth enough for me to worry."

"First of all, in case it wasn't completely obvious, you sound like a caveman. Again, the only person's job it is to worry about who wants to get anywhere near my pants is _me_. I respect that you're jealous, but then maybe don't all but shove me onto other guys?" She said, leaving no room for argument in her voice. "Duerte is my friend and _our_ teammate, and even if he does want me or whatever, I don't want him. So," she glanced up at his clenched jaw, daring him to argue, "no need for a rule."

"He tries anything…"

She smiled sweetly, craning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "I'll take care of myself, just like I've been doing my entire life. And when it's all over and done with, I'll let you know."

Mike sat silently, mulling it over before sighing. "Fine, only because you could probably do more damage than I could anyone."

"Great," she grinned, letting him pull her down until they both laid on their sides. "Bedtime already?"

"Some of us actually need our beauty sleep."

"And yet the beard still exists."

His eyes drooped shut, and his mouth stretched into a yawn. "You love the beard." He murmured drowsily.

"It's growing on me," she admitted.

"Told ya."

"Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been ten years and a day. I don't know, I just got really caught up in Bawson oneshots. Hope this chapter was worth the wait. If it wasn't, I'm a trash person and I'm sorry!!


	4. Chapter 4

And so Mike and Ginny dated.

Or, the version of dating the occurred behind closed doors and during brief moments of savored privacy. And it didn't take long for them to realize that it wasn't enough.

Ginny found herself practicing that poker face she'd formed long ago, keeping her expression neutral even as they walked down the streets of San Diego and women _threw_ themselves at him. And when they were at the bar, her hands clenched around her beer as Mike wore a charming smile and posed for selfie after selfie. Oh, and after each game, where Ginny would linger by the side of a crowd, her jaw tight as yet another girl tucked a pair of panties into Mike's pocket.

Ginny was as good an actress as any, but there was only so much a person could take.

"That's three," she murmured, keeping her stride long even as Mike jogged to catch up with her.

"Three?"

She whipped around, glowering up at him. "Three of Victoria's slutty secrets in your back pocket."

Mike tilted his head, doing nothing to mask his amusement. "Isn't this a welcome change of pace?"

"And how's that?"

He leaned forward, casting a cursory glance around before setting his hands on her hips. She crossed her arms, a begrudging smile curling on her lips. "You jealous for once."

"You wish," she scoffed, brushing at the bit of sand coating his beard.

"I do," he nodded, his nose scrunching as he grinned. "It's hot."

"Cave. Man." She hissed playfully, surging up onto her toes and lacing her fingers behind his neck. "But, if I was jealous," she simpered, her bottom lip jutting into a pout, "what would you do?"

"Well," he started, his hand sliding down along her lower back, "I'd let you know that my girl is the hottest in the state and, what do you know, just so happens to be pretty cool," she yelped as his hand came down hard on her ass, "so my more…enthusiastic fans have lost their appeal."

"And, as romantic as that sentiment is," she brushed her mouth over his, "new rule. Ditch the walking lingerie section or the only person's underwear you won't be seeing is mine."

"Cold, Baker."

"Damn right," she answered, stumbling back with a laugh as Mike nudged her against the wall of the stadium. "Wait," she giggled, dropping her voice as he slipped into her space, "rule number six." She shivered as his teeth grazed along the shell of her earlobe. "Absolutely no," he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, "hanky panky."

He stilled, his forehead resting against her shoulder and his breath tickling her skin as he laughed. "Hanky panky? I'm pretty sure I vetoed that one on the basis of being from the fifties."

"And I added it anyway, thought it would make you and your ancient bones feel right at home. Funnily enough, I can't think of a more appropriate time to use this particular rule."

"Because of all the hanky panky?" He replied drily, straightening as she pressed her hands to his chest.

"Exactly," she quirked an eyebrow up at him, "glad you caught on."

"I think I'm gonna need a refresher course," he tucked a loose strand of curled hair behind her ear, "this allowed?" He grazed his lips over the tip of her nose, her answering giggle dancing across his skin like a ballet.

"I'm gonna have to say no."

"And this?" He brushed a lingering kiss to her cheek, and she sighed, her fingers digging into his arm just a little tighter. She bit her lip, managing a quick shake of her head before he caught her chin and bent forward.

"You're a sucky student."

"Well, I'd be more than happy to take this lesson back to your place."

"And if you fail?"

He opened his mouth to reply, something cutting and smooth that would make Ginny's face screw into that bright beam he'd come to live for, but something stopped him. His smile dropped away, and Ginny mirrored him, her shoulders tensing and her mouth dipping into a frown.

"What?" She craned around his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of whatever had made him stiffen against her. He shook his head, raising a finger to her lips. And then he bounded backwards, just managing to stay upright as the footsteps that had caught his attention grew louder.

"Yo," Blip exclaimed, jogging over to where they stood, Ginny's hands resting on her knees and her cheeks hot. "Evie's making pork chops," slowing, his eyes flicked from Mike back to Ginny, "you guys in?"

"I actually have plans."

Mike's head darted up, curiosity warring with suspicion in his expression. "You do?"

"Crazy as it seems." Ginny fiddled with the drawstring of her sweatpants, giving them both a tight smile before slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I've got to make my way over soon though. The boys will practically be teenagers the next time I see them."

"Yeah," Blip snorted, "tell that to the bed wetters."

Ginny bit her cheek, patting Blip on the shoulder as she passed. "I envy your life," she cooed, earning a chuckle and a dodged elbow to the side. "I'll catch you guys later."

"Not if I catch you first," Mike called after her, saving his wince for after she glanced over her shoulder, her lips perking at the corners. Blip wore a similarly amused expression, his arms raised and his palms right-side up. "What?"

"'Not if I catch you first?'" Blip parroted, his voice deep and slurring in what seemed to be a poorly executed imitation of his teammate. "What are you doing?"

Mike raked his hands over his head, fighting against the flush working its way up his neck. He was a grown ass man, not some twenty-something little puke with a crush, and he'd be damned if he actually _blushed_. "I wish I knew," he murmured, grabbing at his bag and following after Blip and his suspiciously wide grin. "I'm not gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Evelyn will love it," Blip laughed, slapping his hand against Mike's back, "and a happy Evelyn equals a very happy Blip."

"Right," Mike sighed, rapping his knuckle against the hood of Blip's car before dropping inside. "Let's get this over with."

_**...** _

"Ginny."

Ginny's lips stretched into a smile as Amelia walked into her outstretched arms. "Amelia," she cried, squeezing the bony shoulders of her agent. She inhaled the sweet shampoo wafting from the blonde wisps of hair trying to work their way up her nose.

"God, let me look at you," Amelia arched back, her gaze flitting over Ginny's face.

Swatting her away, Ginny crashed down into the free chair closest to the door, swallowing back a snort as Amelia sat. "It's been a couple of months, not years. I promise that I'm still pretty much intact."

Amelia's eyes narrowed into a squint. "Who exactly do I have to talk to turn that pretty much into a guarantee?"

"All the other teams aiming for this money maker?" Ginny fluttered her fingers over her nose. "Come on, let's order so that you can tell me about all the famous people you've been bossing around."

Ginny hadn't known how to feel after she'd fired Amelia during that first year of her life when it had seemed that everyone and everything was against her. She hadn't wanted to admit that she needed Amelia, with her annoying urge to overstep boundaries and irritating habit of thinking only she knew best, but at the end of the day, someone had to get their hands dirty. And the blonde, stick-thin woman in six-inch pumps surviving on caffeine and Xanax was okay with getting her manicured fingers filthy.

It had taken a few months for either woman to swallow their pride and call the other, but when Ginny finally dialed the number she knew by heart, her heart thudding out dread and hope in equal measures, the relief in Amelia's voice when she picked up made it all worth it.

It was different this time, and Ginny was sure the boundaries that they'd painstakingly created were the only reason they hadn't gone for each other's throats. Ginny promised to bring any problems to Amelia before they had time to fester into sharp comments and hidden resentment, and Amelia started accepting new clients. She split her time between San Diego and Los Angeles, and Ginny felt as if she could breath just a little easier.

"Elle Fanning," Ginny clapped, earning a few stares from nearby diners. "Are she and her sister as intense as they seem?"

"A little, yeah," Amelia laughed, absently twirling pasta around her fork. "But between her and the last of the Olsen girls, Slater's Stars is actually doing pretty well."

"And you made time for little ol' me?" Ginny reached for her water glass, playing with her straw. "I'd start thinking I was special, but I'm sort of too busy trying to figure out how someone as smart as you could have picked such as crappy name."

"I happen to like the name, Gin."

"Course you would." Rolling her eyes, Ginny pushed her plate away. "Eliot still liking Los Angeles?"

"I have no idea. I tried to have a conversation with him once, but all he wanted to talk about was some app, something unintelligible like Mystream or Facelapse, made to appeal to the narcissists of your generation." She shrugged, beckoning over the waiter and waiting for him to refill her wine glass. "But his girlfriend seems to understand all the tech stuff, so it's – "

"Lucky for everyone involved?" Ginny guessed.

"Oh, absolutely." Amelia's smile dimmed as she leaned forward. "Ginny – "

Ginny tensed, her body preparing for bad news before she had the chance to process Amelia's grim expression. "What is it?" She frowned, watching as Amelia's perfectly plucked eyebrows knit together. "What, Amelia?"

"I know having a bit of distance between us has been working, but…"

"But?" Ginny urged, her frown deepening as Amelia scrolled through her phone.

"But, this."

Ginny took Amelia's phone, the light, bubbling feeling in her stomach that had sent contentment popping through her head disappearing. Her eyes bumped over the headline and over to the story, reading as the writer speculated why and where to the illustrious Ginny Baker had vanished. It wasn't enough that her career had proven to be more than a fluke, or that the Padres upcoming turn in the playoffs could be attributed in a large part to her. No, because she wasn't plastered on every magazine cover or television screen doing late night shows and cooking segments, she was somehow in the wrong.

"I've been fulfilling my obligations," she murmured, setting the phone down with a careful reserve. "I've done interviews, and photo shoots, and even a couple of commercials."

"And yet," Amelia sighed, "a lot of your contracts are coming to an end, and unless we get you back out there, I'm not sure the bigger companies are going to want to renew."

Nodding, Ginny shoved at the hot wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She made more than enough money, and even she didn't, she'd been smart. She'd saved and invested and then saved some more. At twenty-five, she couldn't remember the last time she'd bought something because she was young and rich and impulsive.

Because she wasn't. Impulsive. Young and rich maybe, but she couldn't live the life she did, with a laser sharp focus and the weight of a million people, fans and teammates alike, on her shoulders by indulging the spontaneous whisper in the back of her mind. Hell, the last time she'd done something unplanned was the moment she'd bridged the distance between her mouth and Mike's, and considering the way that had shaken her, she couldn't see herself loosening the grips on her decisions.

She shook her head, trying to sort through the chaos rampaging through her head. She couldn't afford distractions, not with Amelia considering her as if she was some problem that needed to be solved.

"So, I lose some endorsements," she said, "I can handle that."

Amelia flinched, and Ginny felt her control slip further from her grasp. "It's not just the endorsements. I've been talking to Oscar – "

Ginny straightened, torn between surprise and suspicion. "Way to bury the lead."

"Trust me, those conversations were just about as pleasant as this one." Amelia ran her hands through her hair, her voice taking on a bitter lilt before her mask slipped back into place. The one she wore when she set her sights on a world in need of conquering and knew that she would be the one to do it. "Ticket sales are down."

"So?" Ginny scowled. "It's not my job to fill the seats. I get on the mound and I pitch, regardless of how empty the stadium is."

"I realize that, but baseball will always be a business and you are one of its greatest commodities."

"I didn't ask for that," Ginny spat through gritted teeth, searching for a place to aim her mounting irritation and trying to stifle it when it tried to settle on Amelia. She huffed out a breath and unfurled her hands, setting them down on the table and forcing away her anger. "Fine, Amelia, what do I do?"

"Well, first, I'm relocating. Eliot and I will be back here for the duration of both the season and the postseason. Afterwards, we'll capitalize on the publicity centered around playoffs and go from there."

Amelia? Back in San Diego? Crowding into Ginny's space and making it impossible for her to concentrate on what was most important. Playoffs. Mike. The life she'd created for herself away from the media circus that came along with Amelia and her attempts to catapult Ginny from ballplayer to something greater than she'd ever wanted to be.

"And long-term?"

Amelia's lips pulled taut as she tried to hide her frown. "I don't know, Ginny. I can't keep my other clients on hold for too long, but this has to be a priority."

"Right, fine," Ginny scratched her forehead, "ok, whatever you think is best. For now."

Amelia's smile was just as forced as Ginny's as she slapped her credit card down onto the table. "So, before we get started, is there anything I should know?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to need you to get yourself ready for the lack of privacy these next couple of months will bring, and to do that, I have to know everything and anything the media can use against you."

"Um…" Ginny began, her mind flashing back to just last night as Mike had winked up at her from between her legs, his teeth nipping at her inner thigh and shooting jolts of pleasure through her. "No, I'm boring, nothing to worry about here"

"Great," Amelia dangled her car keys from her thumb, a part of her wondering if come this time next month she would find herself with one less client to manage. "This should be fun."

* * *

"It couldn't have been that bad."

"You didn't see her," Ginny cried hours later, poking her head out of his bathroom long enough to glower at Mike. "Apparently I blinked and my career dove off a cliff." Mike bit back a grin as Ginny clamped her teeth down on her toothbrush and reached up to twist her hair into a bun. "I don't know which is worse, what all this dumb endorsement stuff means for me, or the fact that I get to deal with all of this while Amelia breathes down my neck ."

"A little of both?"

Ginny spat into the sink, running the back of her hand over her mouth before throwing her toothbrush down and going over to the bed. "Super helpful," she droned, shoving aside the comforter and flopping onto the mattress. "Really."

Mike watched as she made herself comfortable, pulling one of his pillows from his side of the bed and tucking it underneath her neck. "How can I help?" He said finally, blinking off the haze that always seemed to settle around him when she gazed up at him with those dazzlingly bright chocolate eyes of hers.

She folded her arms across the chest, her stare moving past his face to contemplate the ceiling. "Nothing, I don't think," she sighed. "If anything, you might make things worse." A playful smile lit on her face as she twisted towards him. "The vein in Amelia's forehead would burst if she ever found out about you."

"I'm starting to understand why your lunch went so smoothly."

She snorted, waiting for him sink into the cool sheets before fitting herself to his side. "Maybe try not to sound so smug?" She murmured, her toe dragging along his calf and the brush of her mouth tickling his neck. "But whatever, tell me about Blip and Evelyn's."

"Nothing to tell. I was on the receiving end of the Sanders comedy routine for the better part of an hour, but there was pie, so not a complete waste of time."

Ginny hummed, her eyes fluttering shut and her breath coming slower with each passing moment. "Lucky man."

He glanced down at her, nuzzled up against his side and her fingers curled around his, and grinned, the familiar thud of something he wasn't quite ready to put a name to ringing through his chest. "Yeah, I guess I am."

**_..._ **

"Mike," Ginny poked at his cheek, her lips pursing as his nose twitched but he remained very much asleep. "Mike," she tried again, huffing out a sigh when she was met with a sleepy murmur. "Come on, Lawson. I'm hungry and I don't have enough money to remodel your kitchen after I burn it down."

"Go away, Rookie," he murmured, a groan escaping past his lips when she nipped at his collarbone.

" _Out of my yard, Rookie_ ," she said in a deep growl, " _you're exhausting, Rookie_. You say the sweetest things to me. Exactly what a girl likes to hear."

He snorted, cracking an eye as she settled over his hips. "Because you've been showering me with praise?"

Ginny stretched her arms over her head, squirming around until she grew comfortable. "I complimented your beard the other day."

"Yeah, how'd that go again? _You know, Mike, in the right light, your beard is almost tolerable._ "

"Glowing approval in my book," she grinned, stealing a quick kiss before hopping off the bed. He considered her as she walked over to his closet, her expression thoughtful as she swiped at each of his shirts.

"You wanna hear something?"

"You're going to tell me anyway," she quipped, peeking at him from over her shoulder.

"You stayed over last night."

"I'm not sure how pointing out the obvious helps my empty stomach," she turned long enough for him to see her lips droop into a pout. "It's rumbling, Lawson, and yet you're still lying there."

He pushed up onto his knees, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "You're not listening to me." Her head fell to the side as she waited. "You came over, raided my fridge, went on one of those rants of yours that makes you just oh so endearing, and then went to sleep." He cocked an eyebrow. "Not even a kiss at the door."

Ginny frowned, yanking off her t-shirt and dropping it to his dresser. "So?"

"So…" he cleared his throat as Ginny tugged on a pair of his boxers and his favorite button down. And, fuck him, it wasn't fair how good she looked. "So, it's – "

"The first night I stayed over without," she swallowed, understanding dawning on her face as she scraped her nails along her scalp, "without, any lead up, I guess?"

"You mean a piece of this fine, _fine_ ass."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she snorted as she walked back over to the bed.

"Worth it?" He held his breath as she sidled forward, a shy smile playing across her lips and the fabric of his shirt twisting in her fists.

"Well," she started, "you have a really comfortable mattress."

"That I do." He kept his face passive as she skated her hands along his shoulders. She quirked an eyebrow, her fingers light as they drew along his stomach.

"And the company isn't too bad." He sucked in a breath as her mouth lingered just over his, a whisper-soft touch that he felt ring through his veins.

"I'd go with debonair, maybe charming, but not too bad works for now." His eyes slipped shut as she leaned into him.

"But the service is shit," she mumbled against his lips. "I'll take my eggs scrambled, my bacon crispy, and my coffee black. We'll see how chatty I feel after that." He jumped when her hand smacked down on his ass, and she skipped out the door before he had the chance to put together what the hell just happened.

"God help me, I love that woman." He shook his head, wondering what exactly he'd done to deserve this dizzying mix of exasperation and pleasure.

She poked her head back into the room, huffing out an impatient, "less talking, more cooking."

He rolled his eyes, sliding from the bed and over to where she stood in the doorway. "I'll cook if you clean after."

"Deal," she nodded, "now let's see some hustle, Lawson."

He glanced back at the amused glimmer in her eyes, certain of only one thing. If he was about to find himself with a squatter, he'd have to keep certain thoughts where they fucking belonged, as far from Ginny Baker as he could get them.

Ginny waited until Mike planted himself in front of the stove before wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on the back of his neck.

"You'd look good in an apron."

He shot her a warning look, earning a peal of giggles before he turned back to the sizzling bacon. "I've never worn an apron in my damned life."

"Maybe if you wore one, I would too," she shrugged, "with nothing underneath."

He twisted, breakfast momentarily forgotten. "You're in a deceptively good mood considering last night."

He nudged her back against the kitchen counter. "Maybe I like waking up to that grumpy thing you call a face a little more than I let on."

"The bacon's gonna burn."

"Let it," she murmured, pressing her lips to his.

The eggs began to smoke just as Mike got his hands underneath Ginny's shirt, and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd spend the better part of the morning scraping charred bacon from the pans he'd overpaid for, but he made his peace with it. Because Ginny's hands were tangled in his hair and that horsey chuckle of hers was playing through his ears and filling his chest.

For all his talk of taking the slow, of locking away the parts of himself that knew from the day that they'd met that Ginny would mean more than he was willing to accept, this was getting to be more than he could bear. Mike had never been a patient man, and here was this woman that he wanted more than he could remember wanting anything in his life. And he needed her to know it, to feel it in every kiss and every touch. To hear it purred in the middle of the night before she fell asleep, or as they nearly destroyed his kitchen. He could feel it welling up, the one thing he was desperate to say but knew neither of them was ready for. It was one thing to mutter it underneath his breath and another to spring it on her at the beginning of what he planned on being a long relationship. His last relationship.

So, when the fire alarm went off and she stared up at him with wide, twinkling eyes, he leapt away from her long enough to dump both scalding pans into the sink, and then spun back around and sputtered out the next best thing.

"Move in with me." He scanned her face, hoping for something, anything, to clue him in to how she felt.

Mike had never been one for reading into signs, but if Ginny's manic, near violent laughter was any indication, maybe it was time he started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah, okay, I suck, I know. But there were finals and then the holidays and then it all just sort of got away from me, which only partly explain my suckiness. Another part was just some major brain block/brain farting on my part. But, i'll do better, I swear, like maybe every two weeks? Don't @ me if I turn out to be a lier? Okay, I'm done lol


	5. Chapter 5

Ginny wiped at the corner of her eye, her stomach cramping painfully as another bout of giggles raked through her. Her laughter didn't die away until she straightened, a lone chuckle passing through her lips as he grimaced.

"Wait," she pressed her hand down onto the counter, "what?"

"Move in with me," he repeated, his voice uncertain. "Although I guess I should take that as my answer."

"Mike," he arched an eyebrow, and if Ginny squinted just right she could almost see exactly when he began building his walls. "Okay, maybe the laughter wasn't great, but you've got to understand where I'm coming from here. This is all new to me."

"Right," he shook his head, "it's fine. It was a stupid idea." He stepped back and over to the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped one of the frying pans.

She came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder and craning forward until she caught his eye. "It's not, really. It's just…it's been weeks."

"It's felt like more and you know it."

"It does," she answered, her voice insistent as she spoke, "because I cared so much about you from the moment I first saw you play, but I never thought that some stupid crush could lead to anything. And then I spent so much time trying to convince myself that this couldn't work."

"Spare me the history lesson," he grunted, "I was there."

Her gaze skated over his face, her mouth brushing along the curve of his jaw. "Yeah, which means you know how long it took for me to realize that this was something I needed, and even when I did, I couldn't admit it because I thought if I let myself want something so bad, it would hurt."

"I would never hurt you," he mumbled darkly.

"No," she agreed, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a soft smile, "but it'll hurt us both if we rush this. So, maybe you clear out a drawer for me, I stop stealing your clothes, and you stop pouting."

He tugged up an eyebrow, casting a quick glance over to her before letting his bottom lip slip out. "I'm a grown ass man, Baker, I don't pout."

He twisted, his hands falling to her hips, and she barked out a laugh, nipping at his lip until she felt it curve into a smile. "You're one hundred percent pouting, and honestly, it's sort of hot."

"Yeah?" He murmured, his eyes crinkling as his smile grew.

She hummed, sagging into him as something that felt a lot like relief coursed through her. She wasn't sure when exactly she began to live for these quiet moments when those cracks in Mike's walls tumbled around them, leaving her with the man who's stare made her knees quiver and her heart thud. But she didn't question it, welcoming the warmth that pooled in her cheeks and radiated from his palm.

"You won't move in," he finally said, "but how about something smaller?"

"Smaller?"

"Smaller," he echoed, "let me take you out."

"Right," Ginny snorted, perching her chin on his chest.

"I'm serious, Gin. Tonight, you wear a dress, I put on a tie, and we actually leave this damn apartment and act like we're together. In public."

"Okay," the word popped out before she had the chance to leash it, taking them both by surprise as she blinked. "Give me a time and place, and I might actually show up."

He watched her, his eyebrow curving up as her lips spread into a glittering beam, slow like molasses and doing wicked things to his stomach. "What?" She asked, a giggle carrying on the current in her voice.

He shook his head, letting his hands drop from their place on her hips. "Nothing," he said, "you just – you never seize to amaze me."

With a roll of her eyes, she reached up and yanked on his beard. "Why don't you do the dishes before you start crying, Old Man?" She teased, whipping around and heading towards the room. "And how about you save the flattery for our date?"

He bit back a laugh, his attention moving away from the sway of her hips and over to the sink and his burnt kitchenware. Pushing away from the counter, he turned on the tap, letting the scalding water run over his hands and startling when he heard her squeak.

"Our date!" She squealed, her face open and shining with a quiet joy that he saved for later when he laid in bed and remembered to thank whoever or whatever was up there past the stars for bringing Ginny Baker into his life. "Okay," she said, forcing her smile away as she tried to contain her bubbling excitement. Still, he could see it brimming in her eyes, desperate for an escape as she shoved her hair from her forehead.

"Yeah, Baker?"

"Sorry," she threw out, looking anything but, "I'm just gonna – " she gestured vaguely behind her, backing away from him with her dimples out and in full throttle.

"You do that," he smirked, his skin bright red and smarting as he grabbed at the sponge. "Eight, this living room, don't be late."

* * *

Evelyn opened the door on the second insistent knock, her phone pressed to her ear and amusement sending her eyebrow skyrocketing. "Hey Mom, I'm going to have to call you back."

"Help," Ginny shouldered past her, her arms full and her earlier excitement giving way to agitated panic. "I don't have anything to wear." Ginny skirted around the toys littering the floor, the corner of her lips perking at the sight of the half-finished Ginny Baker puzzle. "I'm burning that, by the way."

"The clothes or the scattered pieces of your face on my hardwood floor?"

"The latter, but if you don't figure out what I'm leaving this house in, then it could definitely become both."

Plucking the make-up bag from Ginny before it had the chance to tumble to the ground, Evelyn nudged Ginny down onto the couch. She rolled her weight onto her left hip, cocking her head to the side and considering Ginny with a thoughtful expression. "First of all, the puzzle is Blip's, and it's the only way I got any peace and quiet this weekend."

"Weird, but I'll ignore it."

"And second, what's got you all…" she fluttered her fingers, letting Ginny fill in the blanks. "The last time you showed up like this, your mother was in town and wanted you and Kevin to do some 'family bonding'."

"And you picked my outfit without the inquisition," Ginny countered, nodding over to the pile of dresses she'd lugged over to the house with her. "And, just to sweeten the deal, I stopped by the mall before I came here and got all new make up," she sang.

"Please Gin, you can't distract me with Sephora." Still, her fingers brushed over the glossy plastic, wistful longing lighting on her face. "What's going on?"

Ginny squirmed, her eyes fluttering shut as Evelyn uncapped an eyeliner and began to drag the pencil along Ginny's eyelids. "I might have a date." She confessed after a moment, earning a stilling hand dropped onto her bouncing knee.

"Stop moving," Evelyn ordered, her tongue peeking out as she bent in closer. "Might?"

"Do," Ginny amended.

Evelyn chewed on her cheek to keep from shrieking. "With a man?"

"Yes with a man," Ginny shot back, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

"And…?" Evelyn prodded, her breath warming Ginny's cheek as she tucked a finger underneath Ginny's chin and tilted her head up.

Her lips fought to tug up into a smile at the image of Mike dancing through her mind. "And, I'm happy," she admitted, chewing on the inside of her cheek, "and sort of excited."

"That's all well and good, but I need _details_." Evelyn stepped back, the eyeliner dipping from her grip and a tube of mascara flipping between her fingers. "Is this the reason you've been impossible to pin down?"

Ginny's shoulders bumped up, another answer that she couldn't give, not really. Even if a part of her screamed to pull Evelyn to her side and let it all come rushing out. To let Evelyn explain how Ginny had allowed Mike to chip at the pieces of herself that she'd put up to protect herself from the very feelings coursing through her, wild and singing.

"Don't worry, you'll tell me," Evelyn promised. "I'm thinking a smoky eye."

"Sounds good," Ginny sighed, shoving past the lump of guilt that had settled on her tongue, tasting of all the words she longed to say but couldn't seem to get out. "Amelia's back." She said after a few minutes of quiet, her nose crinkling at the powder that Evelyn brushed across her cheeks.

"Like _back_ back?"

"Like looking for an apartment as we speak."

Evelyn paused, eyes narrowing. "Since when?"

"Since it turns out that being the first female pitcher in the MLB just isn't what it used to be for my bank account." She quipped, fingers twitching at her side. "I don't know, a part of me doesn't even care, you know? Let someone else do the shoots and the spreads and the interviews. I just want to play ball, right?"

"Right," Evelyn stepped back, her eye critical as she studied Ginny's face. "But?"

"But, at the same time, it feels sort of like I'm moving backwards." She quieted long enough for Evelyn to paint her lips with red lipstick so bright she almost wiped it off. "Like, if everyone stops wanting a piece of me then – "

"Then you stop being the Ginny Baker and start being just you again?"

Ginny exhaled, gaze flashing up to Evelyn's. "I'm being an idiot."

"Yeah," Evelyn affirmed, "but that's why you have me around." Collapsing onto the couch beside Ginny, she peeked over at her friend, her expression twisting with wicked amusement. "What does Mike Lawson think about this?"

Ginny resisted the urge to stiffen, eyes trained to her nails. "Should he have an opinion?"

"Sure," Evelyn commented smoothly, "what with all his nighttime activities."

"You," Ginny declared, "have a dirty mind."

"Like you weren't thinking it," she laughed, tucking her leg underneath her as she twisted to face Ginny. "And you know he'll have something to say about who's got you all dolled up and giggly."

"Well, it's none of his business," Ginny shot back, her neck burning even as the lie slid out just as sarcastic and biting as if she'd meant it. "And whatever happens between Mike and Amelia isn't my business, or yours either."

"Right," Evelyn droned, rolling her eyes and pushing herself from the couch. "Come on, nothing you brought is right. We go through my closet fast enough and maybe I can do something with your hair."

Ginny let Evelyn wrap her fingers around her wrist and tug her up, her feet sluggish as Evelyn pulled her along. "What's wrong with my hair?"

* * *

Mike checked his watch for the third time in the last five minutes, a snort slipping past his lips. He should have figured he'd be kept waiting.

"Something funny?" He glanced up, his mouth drying as he drank Ginny in, surprised at how she still managed to catch him off guard. She shot him a sweet smile, her fingers tangling with the necklaces resting against her collarbone, and leaned back against the door, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"What?" He rasped.

"I asked," she started impishly, her grin dimming as his stare roved away from the mischievous glimmer burning in her eyes, "something funny?" He hummed, his gaze moving past the silken black material clinging to her torso and the golden mesh shorts hanging from her hips. She crossed one long leg in front of the other, and God help him, he forgot how to speak, how to breath, everything flying from his head save for how she looked and the way it would feel for those champagne heels to dig into his shoulders.

"Um," he blinked, hoping for a bit of clarity, "it's eight-fifteen."

"I know," she replied casually, "but it takes some time to look this good."

With his hands fidgeting at his side, he ground out a feverish, "right."

"Hot date?" She asked, cocking her head to the side, a mass of curled black hair tumbling over her exposed shoulder.

Clearing his throat, he stood. "You could say that."

"You could," Ginny hummed, each of her steps painfully, deliberately slow, "I'd also take gorgeous, beautiful…"

"Sexy," he rumbled, his voice buzzing down her spine and making her toes curl. "You look," he loosed a breath, scrubbing his hand across his forehead, "you look incredible."

"You have Evelyn to thank for that," she informed him, her face heating as his eyes cut a path down her throat as she swallowed, "didn't really have anything that passed her very high standards."

"And what does she think you're doing tonight?"

She inhaled, his hands warm as they slid along her waist. "She knows about the date, just not the who."

"So, she thinks you look like this," she wasn't sure if they would leave his house if he kept doing this, pinning her down with the fire raging in his gaze, threatening to consume them both, "for some idiot?"

"She thinks I look like this because I wanted to," she corrected him, "regardless of who I spend my time with."

"Course."

Biting back a smile, she shook her head and stepped out of his reach, the glide of his fingers against the slight sliver of skin he'd found setting her blood on boil. "You make reservations?"

"We can be late."

She lifted a finger, pressing it to his mouth before they found their mark. "You asked me on a date, and I didn't spend hours being poked and prodded to end up hanging out here." She huffed out a sigh as his lips parted, his tongue warm as it circled her finger. "L-lawson," she faltered, a warning in her voice even as her expression darkened. He smirked around her finger, nipping down one last time before letting her pull away.

"You're right," he purred, shoving one hand into his pocket and letting the rest against her lower back, "let's go."

He ushered her out, locking the door behind them with a chuckle booming through his chest as she grit out a stinging, " _bastard_."

He could feel as her mood shifted, her lips caught between her teeth as she tossed lingering looks over at him from over the gear shift. He trained his eyes to the road, his grip tightening on the steering wheel when she craned forward to fiddle with his music, her shorts skimming up her thigh inch by tantalizing inch.

"You have anything from this century?" She murmured. "No offense, but I can't listen to anymore Aerosmith"

"Since when do you have a problem with my music?"

She glanced over at him from over her shoulder, the smell of strawberries and chocolate wafting up from her hair. "Since just about always. "

"You want Top 40, you should have gone out with Drake."

"I still could," she simpered, "but your bed's too big for one person."

"We're here." He said, swinging into the parking lot and slamming his foot down on the break.

"Great," she grinned, the flash of her teeth so feral that it had his lungs gasping for air. "I'm starving."

Stepping out of the car on shaky legs, he watched as she rolled her shoulders back and tucked her purse in the crock of her elbow.

"Coming?" She tossed over to him, smiling as he jogged over to her side and offering him a hand.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Rookie, you know that?" He said, their fingers intertwining as they sauntered into the restaurant. She turned, a smartass comment resting on her tongue no doubt, when her eyes widened.

"Mike," she gasped, twisting as far as his hand would allow to soak in as much as she could, "it's beautiful."

He ripped his gaze from her face, trying to see the room as she did, from the soft, twinkling lights that glimmered from the ceiling to the notes that floated through the air from the singular violin player in the corner.

"Thanks," he murmured, something about the space dropping his voice to a gentle whisper.

They strolled between tables, littered with rose petals, warm from the glow of the red, crackling flames coming from the fireplace, and so full. Full of people laughing and drinking, their attention everywhere but on Ginny as Mike tugged her along. She frowned, her grasp on Mike tightening as a few glanced over at her only to look away, either unaware of who Ginny was or…or too absorbed in their own dinner to care. She felt herself relax at the thought even as it drew a perplexed grimace to her lips.

"I own it." He explained, hoping to smooth away the confusion wrinkling her forehead.

Ginny whipped around, her eyebrows drawing together. "Excuse me?"

He nodded her over to the seat in the center of the restaurant, sketching a bemused brow as she lowered herself into her chair, her amazement warring with the wariness creeping into her eyes. "I know how worried you were about people finding out about us so I wanted to show how much I appreciate this step."

"Flowers would have worked too," she breathed, giving the waiter a slight smile as he set a wine bottle down onto the table.

Mike shrugged, his finger tapping along the stem of his wineglass. "Don't see the point in them. Flowers die, figured this place would be here for a while."

She straightened, taking her menu and hugging it to her chest. "So you bought me a restaurant."

"Bought a restaurant that we can use," he modified, "and I figured it wouldn't exactly hurt my wallet in the long run. As for the diners, their dinner is on me tonight as long as they promised to mind their own business."

"You really didn't have to do all of this," Ginny said, even as that last slice of her heart, the piece that always seemed to whisper warnings in her ears, that told her not to fall, not too fast maybe not ever, seemed to quiet. It might rear its head later on, in the middle of the night when it could massage her fears and insecurities, but for now, with the light of the candle sending dancing shadows flickering across Mike's face, it was silent.

"Doesn't matter that I didn't have to," he said, his words like a caress deep inside her chest, "I wanted to."

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "Well," she said once she was certain the pressure behind her eyes was nothing more than that, "hopefully the food's good."

Mike threw his head back and laughed, something like relief ringing in the sound. "Come on, let's order."

Dinner went by faster than Ginny could have imagined, her cheeks straining from the strength of her smile. Maybe it was the way they seemed to fade to the background, the anonymity wrapping around her like a hug she hadn't known she'd needed. Or maybe it was how the biggest surprise of the night hadn't been the restaurant he'd handed her with a ribbon wrapped around it, but how a part of him that Ginny hadn't realized he'd kept hidden seemed to come alive as they sat there.

Perching her elbow on the table, she watched as Mike spoke, his lips wrapping carefully around words she'd never thought she'd hear coming from him. About the teacher in high school that seemed to have it out for him after he'd reared ended her car and how he still visited the woman that never stopped seeing him as the kid who talked too loudly in her classroom. And about the months it took to convince his mother to teach him how to bake, only for him blow up their microwave with inedible chocolate chip cookies. Even about the books he'd tucked underneath his pillow as a child, as if the words would twist into a dream as soon as he shut his eyes. He peeled himself apart, revealing layers and bits that she plucked up and saved in her heart.

"If I hadn't played baseball, I probably would have become…a gymnast," he decided, deftly stealing a piece of duck from her plate.

Her hand flew to her mouth, keeping her sip of wine in place as she snorted. "No."

"Oh yeah," he exclaimed, "you should see my handstand."

"I'd pay money to see that," she laughed, "like, really good money. You could stop investing in your pension plan."

He coughed, stroking his thumb along his bottom lip as he bit back a smile. "I meant you should've seen my handstand, when I was ten, the last time I did one without landing on my ass."

Resting her cheek in her palm, Ginny said, "I think you're going to have to let that dream go."

"I've found a way to keep myself preoccupied," Mike sniffed, inclining his chin as his gaze snagged on the waiter moving over to their table. "You finished?"

She glanced down at her near empty plate, popping one last cube of duck into her mouth before nodding. "I don't think my stomach could handle any more."

"Mr. Lawson," the waiter said warmly, his eyes kind as he smiled at Ginny, "will you two be having any dessert?"

"I could eat," Ginny beamed, ignoring Mike's chuckle as she waved away the menu the waiter tried to pass her. "What do you recommend?"

"The chocolate torte has always been a house favorite, and the personal choice of Mr. Lawson."

"Andrew, please, it's just Mike. Mr. Lawson was my deadbeat dad."

"It's that sense of humor that makes us forget your terrible tipping, sir."

Mike quirked an eyebrow. "You trying to embarrass me in front of my girl, Andy?"

"Of course not," he said, flicking a wink over to Ginny. "I would never."

"If you wanted to though," Ginny interrupted with a flutter of her eyelashes, "you could start with more stories and that chocolate torte."

Andrew nodded, a smirk playing across his lips. "Right away."

"So I'm guessing you've come here before?" Ginny asked, heat slipping up her neck as Mike shuffled his chair in closer to hers.

"Bout twice a week until I left for college," he answered, settling in beside her and dropping a hand to her knee. "My uncle used to own the place, then had to sell it after he made some bad investments. The old bastard loved running the restaurant, so I figured I'd buy it back when I had the money and the time to make it something better than the cheap hot dog place that took it over, but it sort of slipped my mind."

"Until?"

He stilled, his hand stopping its inching crawl up her thigh. "Until you made it clear that you were too humiliated by this ugly mug to head over to the deli with me."

"While in desperate need of a shave, your face is actually one of my favorite parts of the day."

"Don't get all mushy on me, Baker, I may barf up my dinner."

"All right," she replied, brushing the tip of her nose against his cheek, "as if you don't know you're cute." Her smile dimmed as his hand glided past the hem of her shorts, up and up and up and up in smooth strokes that had her legs parting.

"I try," he murmured, "although, if I'm being honest, I don't have to try too hard." His finger, blazing against her body, swept across her skin, teasing her like only he knew how.

"Mike," she chided, her back arching as he toyed with the lace of her panties.

"Hold still, you've got a little…" He bent towards her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and sending his tongue across in a slow drag that stole the breath from her chest. "Wine," he finished, swiping at the corner of his mouth as he pulled back.

"Thanks," she exhaled, struggling to remember where they were, and that even though tonight was one of the first where she hadn't felt the sting of a hundred pairs of eyes on her back, she and Mike were still surrounded by people. People who were now…leaving?

Ginny shook off the haze Mike's gently probing fingers had spread through her head, frowning as her stare darted around. "What's going on?" She asked, shooting him a warning look as his nail scraped along the part of her that normally ripped a purr past her lips.

"They're taking their desserts to go." Dropping a napkin over her lap, he smiled benignly as Andrew walked over to them, his coat draped over his arm and a set of keys swaying from his fingertips. "Andy, this when we say goodnight?"

"Yes, sir. Kitchen staff is heading out and all the guests are gone, so the restaurant is yours."

Standing, Mike reached forward and slapped his palm against Andrew's. "Bad tipper my ass," he grumbled, Andrew's face lighting as he pulled his hand to his side and came back with a fifty.

"Have a lovely time, Mr. Lawson, Ms. Baker." He said, nodding to Ginny one last time before scurrying towards the door.

Mike waited for the jingle of the bells to quiet before turning to Ginny. "All right, Baker, hope you're ready to roll up your sleeves."

"Wait," Ginny said, jerking her chin down and trying to hide her surprise, "what?"

"Roll up your sleeves," he repeated, impatience rolling from him as he offered her a hand, "come on, we're got work to do."

"Work," she replied slowly, "exactly how I like to finish off every successful date…without dessert."

"Successful, huh?" He hummed, nudging her towards the double doors at the back of the restaurant. "You ain't seen nothing yet."

She pushed through the doors, casting her gaze around the tiny room. "A kitchen," she exclaimed, trying, and failing, to muster up some sort of enthusiasm.

"With loads of dirty dishes. I got them to close early with the promise of some free labor."

She peeked back at him, eyebrows furrowing and a frown puckering on her lips. "Shouldn't you have been able to do that without roping me into cleanup duty?"

"Probably," he agreed, "but a dinner this good needs to be worked for."

"Okay," she drawled, rolling her eyes as she pulled her shoulders back. She snapped her fingers at his arm, and he passed her the hair-tie he'd taken to wearing around his wrist for when she grew tired of the mass of curls tumbling into her eyes.

Tugging her hair back into a ponytail, she cocked a hip out. "I wash, you dry?"

He nodded, his gaze scalding on her skin and his expression darkening. She flicked the sleeves of her blouse up, and, spun around, letting the water run over the stacks of dirty plates. It wasn't lost on her that they'd been here only hours before, her lips on the back of his neck and his hands plunged in his kitchen sink.

"So," she started, uncertain of what to do with the energy swirling around in the pit of her stomach, "I know a little about your uncle, what about the rest of your family?" She loosed a gasp as his fingertips drifted along her waist, ghosting caresses that ended at the belt tied around her waist. "Or," she continued haltingly, "um, more about your uncle?" She offered, her voice so unusual in her ears, husky and full of an unnerving amount of _want_. "H-how'd he end up with this place? You talk to him much?"

"That's what you want to do?" His said, the breath tickling the shell of her ear and his fingers deftly undoing the button of her shorts. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the hem of her underwear, his jaw clenching at the feel of the lace. "You wanna discuss my uncle?"

"We're doing dishes," she puffed, wriggling her soapy hands at him just as his finger swiped over her clit. "This has…got to be…a health violation."

His mouth warm as he kissed along her neck, he said, "I don't think I can dry anymore."

She threw her head back and laughed, her giggles giving way to pants as his fingers dipped inside her, first one and then two in a lazy, languid pace. "You're. So. Corny," she grit out, her hips thrusting forward.

"No," he snarled, teeth scraping that spot behind her ear that made her vision blur around the edges. His hand tightened on her hips, keeping her still. "Not yet."

"Mike," she whined, the sound desperate, raw, pleading.

He fit his leg between hers, spreading her thighs apart, and rubbed his thumb along her clit, her heaving sighs dancing through his ears and tugging at his cock. Pushing his crotch against her, he ground against her ass as he plunged his fingers back into her, the swipe of his tongue over the pulse point on her neck matching the in and out of his fingers.

"Mike," she begged, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her grip tight on the counter. " _Please_."

That aching moan was all he needed to twist her around capture her mouth with his own. She melted into the kiss, wet hands snaking along the collar of his shirt and tangling in his hair. Groaning, he pushed his hips against hers, the last of his restraint slipping as she shoved back, taking as much as she gave and then some.

It was why a frustrated growl slipped from his lips when Ginny shook her head, her hands pressing against his chest and pushing him back.

"Not here," she decided, her face twisting with mirthful hesitance. "You didn't buy a restaurant just so that we could shut it down."

"I won't tell if you won't," he protested, surging forward, only to be met with a look that was quickly becoming his least favorite; the one that dared him to argue after she'd made up her mind. "Baker," he ground out, frowning as he felt his control on the situation dissipate.

"I'm going to go," she dashed forward and grazed a kiss between his eyebrows, "and get some fresh air." Another on his nose. "And then we," she grinned, dropping yet another kiss to cheek, "will actually clean up this place like you promised all your wonderful employees." One last, lingering kiss against his lips, and then she was gone, making sure her shorts were in place before yanking the door that led to the alley open and stepping out.

"Mike," she barked underneath her breath, "motherfucking," she kicked at a pebble, feeling shaky, and needy, and everything all in huge, unbearable waves, "Lawson!" Resting her forehead against the wall, she prayed that the cool brick would extinguish some of the fire licking at her skin. And then she closed her eyes, suddenly back against the sink, saying yes instead of not right now like she wished she had.

Ginny sensed him before he spoke, the hairs on her arm standing at attention once his breath ruffled the back of her hair. Darkness seemed to swirl around him, matching the electricity batting between them, and it was all she could do to keep from gasping.

"How about here?" Mike asked, an inferno burning in his whisper. She twisted, cupping her hand against the back of his neck and tugging, sending him crashing down against her lips. She kissed him, hungry as his tongue stroked along hers. He groaned into her mouth, her back arching into his traveling hands, desperate in their search of her body: a brush against her hips, a caress on her waist, a squeeze of her ass, a pinch in the space where her thighs met.

"Mike," she shuddered as he yanked her shirt from where it was tucked into her shorts. He bit down on her lip, a teasing warning that had her swallowing her squeaks. He pawed at the hem of her shirt, the fabric rucked up over her chest and the chill in the air nipped at her hardened nipples before the warmth of his mouth chased away the cold. He let her squirm, considering her breast with that lethal focus of his, before he smirked.

"Right?" He mumbled, reaching down to tweak her nipple. She growled, and he chuckled against her skin, kissing a path down the valley between her breasts. "Left?" He sighed, his tongue darting over the mound of her breast and over to her pulsing nipple. "Right," he declared, shooting her an impish look before his head dipped back down and her breast was in his mouth. He sucked and licked, nibbling until she was a heaving, quivering mess.

"Stop," she hissed, hooking her leg around his waist and wrenching him closer, "playing with me." He glanced at her through his lashes, and she shot him a poisonous look, grinding her hips against his until that playful spark died in his eyes, only a manic longing left in its place.

Mike's gaze glued to hers, feeding into the glittering frenzy growing in her as he pushed her leg aside long enough to snake her shorts down. His pants followed suit and he hoisted her up, using the wall as leverage and feeling for the wet heat between her legs.

"Your back?" She ground out, interlocking her arms behind his neck and sucking in breath as he pushed into her.

He exhaled through his nose, a long stream of air that tickled her collarbone. "What about it?" And then he rolled his hips.

Ginny trembled, sinking down onto his cock only for him to slam into her again, the sound of their slick skin slapping together filling the air. She cried out and he swallowed the moan, surging his mouth against hers and swirling his tongue around hers. Her thighs quivering, she tightened her hands on his shoulders him a wicked smile, tilting her head to the side. He braced, and yet that still wasn't enough as she pushed off from the wall and sunk down on his cock only to pull up again, her breasts bouncing as she rode him within a near inch of his sanity.

" _Gin_ ," he grunted, his knees weakening as her pussy milked his cock, her hands splayed across his chest and her head thrown back. "I can't…"

She paused, concern flashing through the fog of lust surrounding the last ten minutes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he stuttered, even as a spasm of pain rocketed through his back. Squinting, she gave an experimental rock of her hips and his knees buckled, jamming his hand against the wall to keep them upright. "Fuck!"

Ginny's legs dropped, her toes pressing to the ground. "It's okay, we can head home."

"Really," he pleaded, "I'm fine." There was no way he would let this moment pass, Ginny Baker half naked with the moon at his back and the breeze cooling the sweat on his skin. He stroked his thumb along her nipple, but she smacked at his wrist.

"Come on, Old Man," she teased gently, a tremor passing through Mike as he worked to keep his expression neutral. "Hurry up and I'll show you how much better it can be with a bed."

He frowned, but she grasped his chin and tilted it down, a nod and a compromise that he was reluctant to admit he needed. "You drive a hard bargain, Baker."

Something deep inside her squeezed, and she fluttered around his throbbing dick. "Do I?" She asked innocuously, her lashes batting and her smile saccharine.

"Don't do that," he warned, feeling that familiar pressure building in his back, "and I'm gonna need you to hop off," the pain built, not unlike the surge of heat that had been cresting threw his abdomen moments before.

"Wait, just – " She wriggled, laughter in her voice.

"Agh, Ginny I can't – " And as Ginny pulled him out, his legs gave out, crippling agony rippling across his lower back and making his muscles cramp.

They went crashing down, Mike twisting to take the brunt of the fall and a grunt pulling from his lips as she landed on him. He let his eyes slip shut, saturating in the humiliation of what was supposed to be a romantic night as water soaked into his pants and Ginny's hair tickled the bottom of his nose.

And then the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard floated up to his ears, curling the corners of his mouth even with his cheeks hot with mortification. Ginny snorted, which turned quickly to a giggle that gave way to that peal of horsey laughter that shook her body all the way down to their intertwined legs.

"You think this is funny?" Mike asked, his eyebrow darting up to the night sky.

She perched her chin on his chest, her beam obnoxiously bright. "My shorts are around my ankles, I've got alley water in my hair, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to haul your geriatric ass up from the ground, but yes. I think this is incredibly funny, and sweet, and probably the most ridiculous date I've ever been on."

"I've got things trying to slither up my ass crack, Baker, your point?"

She heaved out a sigh, hopping up and fixing her clothes before offering him a hand. "My point," she said, hoisting him up and yanking his pants into place, "is that you're sweet for trying," she continued, making sure he was tucked in before buttoning the two ends of his pants together, "albeit absurdly misguided." Swiping at the dirt on his cheek, she shook her head. "If this is what the woman of San Diego are getting, then I'm seriously going to have to fact check those rave reviews I've been hearing."

She shivered and Mike slung his sports coat off, draping it over her shoulder and ignoring the patch of mud clinging to the right arm. "Can we just forget about this?" He asked, nodding towards the door. "Please?"

"You know, there were whispers of you being cheap a while back," she replied, whirling around to face him as they walked. "Didn't think that extended to hotel rooms. Geez, Lawson, you could have let me know you were low on cash, I would have much rather gotten a bed than a restaurant."

He shoved the door open and she ducked underneath his arm. "You're never gonna let this go?"

"Nope," she said, hopping onto the counter and kicking out her legs. He glanced down at those same champagne heels that had taken up so much of his thoughts, the gold now flecked with mud. He reached for a glass, filling it with water and pressing it to her hand, trying to decide if he lied her shoes better that way.

"Even if I ask nicely?" He protested, cupping her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch, her hair straining from its ponytail and tumbling into her eyes.

"Even if you do all the dishes?" She offered, taking a sip of water before tapping the glass against his bottom lip. "And maybe answer a question or two?"

He groaned, burying the tip of his nose into her hair before ghosting a kiss against her forehead. "A question?"

"Or two," she repeated, her neck craning as she stretched.

"First things first," he said, examining the bump just underneath her hairline. "You flinched just now." Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned, watching as he grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around a handful of ice.

"I'm okay," she protested, waving away the ice pack.

"Baker," he ground out, his voice leaving little room for argument, "hold this while I check out your arm, and no backchat, alright?"

"Aye-aye, couch," she grumbled, smoothing it limply against her skin and waiting for him to look away poking her tongue out at him. She quieted, considering him carefully as he eyed her arm, his gaze critical as he poked at her bicep.

"Seems okay," he proclaimed, setting it gently at her side, "now your questions."

She dropped the icepack to her lap, fingers tearing at the edge of the napkin. "You ever think about it, what you'll do after you…"

"Retire?" He supplied for her, his shoulders shifting as he thought of an answer. "Not when I don't have to. It's not as easy to ignore when my knees give out when I'm having sex with a pretty girl, huh?"

"For either of us," she added, Mike's hand itching to trace the edges of her dimple.

"Besides," he went on as if she'd never spoken, "I'm no better at sports casting than I was on first base, and that was always the plan."

"And now?" She cocked her head to the side, blinking up at him as his lips pursed.

"I'll let you know when I have it figured out."

She waited, counting out his breaths before her words found their way back out. "And you wouldn't want to coach?" She asked, reaching for his hand and brushing a kiss to his palm. "Wouldn't want to be the next Skip?"

He focused on the feel of her lips against his skin, warm and achingly soft. "I think about it sometimes," he admitted, "but I imagine some little punk like Livan coming up, thinking they know everything in the world, and all I want is to set them straight. To make them see that they can't be great, not on their own, not without putting the team first."

"And that's bad?"

"No," he shrugged, "it'll probably be exactly what those jerks need. But then they'd step on my field, and someone else would crouch behind my plate, sending calls to my pitcher," she ducked her head, her smile bashful, "and I would miss it too much."

"But it's not like you can just walk away either," she argued. "Being a ballplayers being the best, it's in your blood, just like it's in mine."

He tensed, the soothing circles she rubbed against his arm doing nothing with the fresh wave of anxiety rolling through him. "I don't really want to think about this right now."

"Okay," she said, "but when you do, I'll be here." She pat his cheek, sliding down from the counter before nestling against him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her forehead on his chest. "Oh," she cried, pulling back, "I'm not helping clean up, just, by the way."

"Dessert's in the oven," he grunted, a reluctant smile perking on his lips. "Chocolate."

"I'll make sure to leave Andrew a thank you card." She laughed, falling back against the counter as he inched away, his eyes trained to hers. "And hey," she added, tearing her gaze away long enough to go to the oven and pull out the tortes, "think you can manage to keep your hands to yourself this time?"

His shoulders shook as he chuckled. "Yeah, yeah," he scoffed, "we'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm a dumb liar who lies all the time. I don't even have an explanation for the ten years it's been, just that I'm the worst! Hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for the terribleness that I've been, and hopefully, hopefully, I'll have a chapter done before the next ice age. But don't me, again, sorry I'm gross!


	6. Chapter 6

"Damn Baker, I don't even want to see the other guy," Salvamani whistled, fingers twitching against his thighs as he considered the blackened bruise gracing Ginny's forehead. She looked up, cocking an eyebrow at his hand as it rose and smiling when he snatched it back, thinking better to touch her as she moved through the clubhouse.

"Oh, I took care of them," she nodded, tucking her hair into her cap, "that door, and all others like it, better beware." She ignored Mike's wounded puppy look, rolling her eyes when he directed his sulk towards his cubby. "I'm just really looking forward to explaining how I got my current mugshot from a rebounding cabinet door.

Blip moved closer to her, head tilted and eyes narrowed. "It looks pretty bad," he murmured, "you sure you don't want to get that looked at?"

"Yes dad," she answered, smile teasing, "I promise you I can take a couple knocks to the skull, hardheaded and all that." She pushed up from the bench, bumping her shoulder into his. "It doesn't even hurt that bad, I'll get some ice on it when I get home."

"All right," he sighed, the urge to argue tickling the back of his throat even as he returned her grin. "And what about you, Lawson?"

"What about me?" Mike asked gruffly, shedding his button down and sliding into his jersey. He tried, he really did, but somehow he couldn't quite hide his wince, his body aching with each movement.

"Saw you limping in here," Blip said, sauntering over to where Mike stood and leaning his hip against the wooden frame, "and you're sporting a couple bruises yourself."

"Wild night with some Swedish furniture," he could feel Ginny's laughing eyes on his back, tracing over the pull of his muscles, "last time I order anything that I have to assemble."

"Seems fair," Ginny agreed as she crossed her arms, "you're a catcher, not a handyman."

"Should definitely leave it to the professionals."

He spared a quick glance over to Ginny before glaring at Blip. "It really seem like I'm in the mood for your comedy shtick?"

"Come on," Blip cried, "someone's got to pull a smile from your grumpy ass."

"Who better than us?" Ginny finished for him, hands slapping down on Mike's shoulders. "You need to lighten up."

She could tell that it was going to be one of those days from the minute she'd woken to Mike's worried scowl. After a quick double take at the mirror, it had taken twenty minutes to convince him that she in no way needed to head to the hospital. She hadn't gotten to where she was today without being able to handle a couple of bruises, even on her face. And yes, this one would be particularly…difficult to explain, the purplish-black bump spilling like ink over her skin and taking up an alarming amount of real estate on her forehead and left eye.

She didn't even remember hitting her head on the brick wall the night before, and yet...

By the time she'd convinced Mike that she was capable of catching a ball, he was in such a sour mood that getting any words from him at all was like pulling teeth. She'd hoped that the guys would be able to work him out of his self-flagellatory stupor, but with each concerned peek at her face, he seemed to become more agitated.

"Really," Ginny murmured, craning forward to catch his eyes, "today's a good day, and I'm not gonna let mean Mike ruin it."

"Mean Mike?" He echoed, jaw moving as he shoved a piece of gum between his lips and chewed.

"Oh yeah," squeezing herself in the space between his body and his hangers, she lifted a finger, "there's mean Mike – "

"Drunk Mike," Blip added.

"Geriatric Mike," Butch supplied helpfully, "he's a good buddy of mine actually."

"STD Mike, always a hit with the ladies," Ginny continued, shooting him a wink and feeling her smile stretch at the sight of his begrudging smirk, "and my personal favorite, Padres Mike, the greatest, crabbiest catcher in the history of San Diego history."

"I'm sure we can think of some more, if you need them," Blip said, something flashing on his face as he watched them, an emotion that felt something like confusion warring with a suspicion that he didn't quite understand.

"I think I'm alright," Mike replied, that earlier bite to his words disappearing. He squared his shoulders, forgetting for a moment that here, in this space, Ginny was meant to be his teammate and nothing more. In the clubhouse, he wasn't supposed to crowd her space, breathing in the scent of the shampoo that clung to her pillow and his shirts that she wore to bed, and he wasn't supposed to feel a swirl in his stomach when she titled her chin, an invitation and challenge gleaming in her eyes. "You done?" He rumbled, tempted to tug her bottom lip with his teeth.

"Depends," she shot back, tongue darting out to wet her lips, "are you?"

"Hey," they sprang apart, Ginny's leg smarting as it knocked into the wall. Everyone turned to where Al stood, his hand worrying a spot just underneath his hairline. "What's with all the yapping, I needed you all outside ten minutes ago."

"Sorry Skip," Mike answered for the group, "this one wouldn't shut it."

"This one has a name, and no way am I getting blamed for this," Ginny protested, stepping over a bench and grabbing for her jacket. "See you out there boys."

Blip followed, that light feeling in his chest suddenly sinking, "don't know who she's calling a boy."

"Well Voorhees can't grow a mustache, that count?" Livan asked, jogging out of Voorhees reach.

"Better run," Voorhees laughed, chasing after his teammate.

"Not you, Baker," Ginny skid to a stop at the sound of her name, a frown puckering on her forehead. She slid out of the way, keeping her expression still even at the graze of Mike's knuckles against her back. Al walked over to her, gaze darting over to her forehead before scrutinizing any sliver of skin he could find.

"I'm fine," she said, knee bouncing as he scowled, obviously displeased with what he saw. "Got into it with my kitchen, and the kitchen won."

"You know, in the almost three years I've known you, you haven't gotten any better at lying."

"Fine, you caught me," Ginny proclaimed, "I went trolling for bar fights, ended up with a bottle to the head."

"Baker."

"I'm _okay_ , Skip, really," she exclaimed, dropping her voice before he could catch the defensive edge coating her words. "If anyone else had come in here this morning like this, they would have gotten a slap on the wrist, not the Spanish inquisition."

"Don't start with that," Al grumbled, "girl or not, anyone come into my clubhouse with half their face bashed in would have earned my full attention."

Ginny straightened, meeting Al's apprehensive stare. "And I'm telling you it's better spent somewhere else. If something really was wrong, there's no else I would turn to," she saw his face soften and gave him a slight smile, "I know you have my back, Skip. But, I'm okay, I promise."

Al's eyes narrowed, searching for that girl from so long ago, who held the world on her shoulders and hadn't complained as it slowly got heavier and heavier. That girl, she wouldn't have known to ask for help, would have, and almost did, let it all crush her. But, even with the spectacular shiner, the woman in front of him wasn't drowning, didn't need him to throw her a lifeline. Either that, or she'd just gotten better at hiding.

He prayed it was the former.

"All right, then go warm up," he said brusquely, "but you've got a nice face, try not to mess with it anymore, all right?"

"Got it, Skip," she grinned, waiting for him to twist before rolling her eyes. Who would have thought some ill-thought out sex would cause so many problems?

Out behind home plate, Mike couldn't help but have a similar thought. He pushed up from his crouch, trying to decide which part of him would be causing the most trouble tonight. His knees, while never actually pleasant, seemed almost unbearable when he factored in his throbbing hip and aching lower back. Then there were his arms, peppered with scrapes from whenever he'd snagged his skin on the brick walls. He wasn't exactly thrilled with his wounded pride, but worst of all was his heart. The stupid thing berated him with every beat, _you hurt her, you hurt her, you hurt her._

Ginny, being Ginny, hadn't so much as blinked twice at the massive bruise he'd left on her forehead. She'd laughed, because somehow it was all so funny, that he'd dropped her, as if she didn't realize his damned attempt at spontaneity and inability to keep it in his pants could have ended disastrously. And not, throw out his pants because he couldn't get the smell of alley water from them catastrophe, but the parts of Ginny that made her _her_ gone, her smile, her laugh, the way her nose wrinkled when she thought too deeply. Had she hit her head a little harder or at a different angle, who knew what could have happened. And Mike would have shattered, would have lost too much of himself to ever recover.

_You hurt her, you hurt her, you hurt her._

"Mike," he shook his head, forcing away the thoughts until he could deal with them properly, with a beer and a couple hours of solitude. Blip watched him wryly, arms swinging as he warmed up.

"Blip," Mike finally said, urging him on. "What's up?"

"What was that back there?"

Mike blinked, head jerking back in surprise. "You gonna elaborate or am I supposed to just guess?"

"Come on, man," Blip said, a sigh trapped between his words, "you and Ginny."

"What? You bug me, she tags in and I end up one step closer to an ulcer."

"Right," Blip said slowly, nodding. "It have anything to do with why you suddenly aged ten years over the course of a night or the reason Ginny was over at my place last night, asking my wife to doll her up?"

Mike swallowed, trying to quell the rush of panic ringing in his ears. "Why don't you just ask me what you really want to know, Blip?"

Blip would be able to call his bluff, he always did. Mike was a shit liar on a good day, and so far this one was pushing a lukewarm mediocre. And Blip knew him too well, could see through any of the bullshit that was about to spew from his mouth. But he had to try, not only for Ginny, who was adamant that this thing between them needed to stay secret, but because he wasn't sure Blip would ever truly forgive him if he did find out. Keeping Ginny Baker untouched had been Blip's only rule from the very beginning and the one that he still held to even after years of Mike trying to prove himself worthy.

Mike didn't so much as breathe as Blip considered him. "You know what?" Blip finally exclaimed, the sun parting through the clouds as he smiled. "I'm being crazy."

"Yeah?"

"Yep, but next time call me before you destroy a perfectly good ottoman," he laughed. "You know you ain't actually ever used a hammer, so why play games?"

"It was a coffee table, and we both know Evie does all the heavy lifting between the two of you."

Scratching at the back of his ear, Blip shrugged. "True," he acquiesced, his grin mischievous. "And she looks good doing it to."

"Shouldn't you be in the outfield? Like, as far from me as you can get?"

Blip shook his head, a chuckle on his lips even with that feeling from before still making his stomach churn, like he was missing something.

"That looked intense," Ginny commented as she strolled over to Mike, making sure to keep a bit of distance between them. How no one had noticed how close they'd gotten to mauling each other in the clubhouse was beyond her, but she wouldn't be giving them another chance to catch them.

"It was," Mike frowned, bouncing on his toes to relieve some of the tension coursing through him.

"Yeah well, maybe Blip and Al can get together, start a club or something."

"Later?"

She nodded, pulling her ankle to her butt and welcoming the burn of the stretch. "Everyone's already up our asses and they don't know a damn thing."

"Nothing to be done about it now," he replied, "for now, let me see your slider."

"Aye aye captain," she grabbed for the ball he offered, dimples appearing in full force as he tugged it just out of her reach. "Stop flirting and play ball, Old Man."

He ducked before she could see his grin, his mutinous heart changing its tune.

_You hurt her, you hurt her, you…love her._

* * *

Mike stepped into the shower, eager to wipe away the layers of sweat and grime coating his skin. It had been a grueling practice, made worse by the headache Ginny obviously was trying to mask. She hadn't thought of how afternoon heat and physical exertion would affect her, and suddenly his smiling, teasing girl disappeared behind a pained scowl and a constant wince.

"Some Advil and an ice pack," she'd whispered as they walked towards the clubhouse, the two of them moving at a crawl even as the rest of the team sprinted to change and head out. "And then I'll be good as new."

"You have that thing with Amelia," he'd reminded her, watching as she'd groaned. "And there's no way she's not murdering me for what I did to you."

She'd swiveled, planting her hands on her hips and glowering up at him. "First of all, you didn't do anything, except maybe miss leg day at the gym. It was an _accident_ , a stupid, funny mistake that I wouldn't take back because it was part of a fantastic night. So quit beating yourself up, because honestly, it's pretty annoying."

And that had been the end of that, Ginny's face screwing with annoyance as she trotted into the clubhouse, leaving Mike to frown at the spot she'd just been standing. By the time he'd made it inside, most of the team was gone and the trainers were clearing out.

Most days, he would have gone with an ice bath to work out the knots twisting through his muscles, but he found himself striding to the last shower in the row, towel slung low on his waist.

He knew he'd made the right decision as soon as the water hit his face, a steady downpour of scalding droplets that clogged the air with steam. He turned, resting his forehead on the wall and welcoming the burn that set his reddening skin on fire. His body uncoiled, and even as a hiss passed through his teeth, it was a relief too, the water soothing places in him he hadn't realized ached.

Maybe it was because he was so focused on just being there, nothing but heat and his empty thoughts, that he didn't notice the soft padding of feet on tile before there were a pair of arms slipping around his waist.

"That you, Robles?" He laughed, Ginny's grip tightening and her hair tickling his neck. She pulled herself flush against him, the swell of her breast impossibly soft on his back.

"Hadn't realized you were expecting company," she mewled, letting go long enough for him to twist. "Although Robles is an interesting choice, would have thought Miller was your guy."

He rolled his eyes. "You ever gonna let that die?"

"No," she said after a moment of contemplation, "don't think I will."

He would have said something clever, _really_ , but then Ginny's mouth was on his and his back was pressed to the wall. He dropped his hands to her waist, feeling the slick skin there before sliding them over to cup her ass.

"This is a bad idea," he mumbled against her lips, his groan disappearing into her mouth as she took his hand and laid it on her chest.

"Everyone's gone," she said, words coming out a stuttering mess with each swipe of his thumb over her nipple. "I checked. Besides, I figured after a day like this, we could both use a little pick-me-up."

"I thought I was annoying you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really plan for much conversation."

"Last time we did this, I nearly broke your skull."

"It was lazy really," she cooed, her voice a caress, "I can think of much more interesting places to break."

"God, Ginny," he rasped, her perfect hand wrapping around him and giving an experimental tug, " _please_."

She didn't have to be asked twice, jerking forward and capturing his lips once more, her tongue sweeping over his teeth. He wasn't stupid enough to lift her again, but he pinched her nipple, marveling at the strangled noise that rang in the back of her throat. He did it again and then again as she shivered, bending over to take her free nipple between his teeth.

"Porn star Mike," she exhaled, her back arching. He caught her eye, grinning wickedly before dragging his tongue over her skin, wet and salty and sweltering. "I've changed my mind," he let his hand glide down, past her abdomen, dipping into her belly button before he found his target, "he's my new favorite."

"Gin?" She hummed shakily, head falling back against the wall. "Stop talking." He slid a finger into her, seeing rather than hearing the breath hitch in her chest. There was nothing he loved more than this, watching her unravel layer by layer until she melted into him. He pumped slowly, thrusting another finger in and waiting for her shudder to pass before swiping his thumb over her clit, rubbing faster as he felt her clench. She bit back a moan,

"Mike," she whimpered, sounding frustrated as he pulled back long enough to still her quivering hips.

"Mike," the both stopped, moving, breathing, thinking, at the addition of a new voice in the previously empty bathroom. The water, since cooled, did nothing to mask the click of loafers against the floor and it was enough to propel Ginny into action, her eyes wide as she dropped to the ground and pressed her hand to her mouth. "You in there?"

"Sort of busy," he called, cringing at how _hungry_ his words seemed.

"I know," Mike could just make out the tip of Oscar's head, "but I figured now was as good a time as any to catch you for a quick chat. And it's not like you've exactly been shy in the past."

"I've grown reserved in my old age," he grunted, staring studiously at the patch of wall in front of him and trying, no, begging, his body to relax from the keyed up daze the last few minutes had whipped him into. It didn't help that Ginny's hair, soaking wet and clinging to her face, was still the softest looking thing he'd ever seen. Or that Ginny's eyes, once lit with surprise, were narrowing thoughtfully, a look that he'd grown to fear.

"It'll only take a couple of minutes," Oscar replied, oblivious to the struggle roiling in Mike's head, "I could wait for you to finish, but then you'd be just as naked and probably a lot more uncomfortable."

Ginny still felt that intoxicating, heady frenzy burning through her limbs, desperate for release. She was an adult, she knew intellectually that she could wait, but something devilish was gnawing at the back of her mind, taking hold.

After all, Mike was just right there, his cock eye level and growing. She would really be helping him out, at least, that's what she told herself as she lifted a finger and swirled it lazily over the tip of his head, curious as he startled.

It took everything he had to keep his eyes away from her, and it still wasn't enough. His gaze flicked down, taking in the mischievous smirk curling along her lips and the water streaming down her cheeks. He jerked his chin down, a yes when he'd meant to say no, and that was all the encouragement she needed. She moved forward, nuzzling her cheek against his dick and huffing out a silent laugh at the groan he couldn't quite bite back.

"Just, make it quick," he grit out, his hips twitching forward insistently. She set a hand on his thigh, a silent reprimand that mirrored his own from moments earlier. But unlike her, he wouldn't be able to voice his mounting _exasperation_. "Oscar," he added, although if she too would speed her exploration, it would be much appreciated.

"I just wanted to check in. I feel as if we haven't touched base since you came off the disabled list." Ginny wrapped her fingers around the base of his dick, her eyes burning into his as she licked up the length of him. "How you feeling?"

Mike slapped a hand against the wall, biting down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood to keep from crying out. She dragged her tongue over his head, lashes fluttering together as she suckled at the tip of his cock. "Dandy," he coughed, watching heavy-lidded as she feathered lingering kisses along his shaft, each one just a little longer than the last. One of his hands wound through her hair, careful even with the wildness taking over the more rational parts of his brain.

"And you think you'll make it through the playoffs?"

Her grip on his dick tightened as she took all of him into her mouth, a languid bob that made his knees buckle. She pulled back, teeth scraping gently over his cock and her hand moving over to finger his balls.

"Hope so," then again, there was a very good chance that he wouldn't be making it through this conversation. Ginny moved her hand from his thigh, and suddenly he was thrusting forward, her lips slick and reddened around his cock as she let him fuck her mouth. She moaned, her hand disappearing between her legs and it only seemed to urge him on, his hips snapping faster. He lost his rhythm as his control slipped, everything narrowing down to the wet heat engulfing his dick.

"And how about Ginny? I don't want a repeat of her first season."

"She's… _ah_ …she's good," so good, too good, and he wouldn't be able to hold it much longer, he was going to…

Ginny could feel as he tensed, his hand nudging her off and up right before his orgasm went crashing through him, the pressure rocketing against his skin so violently he wasn't sure what to do. She pursed her lips, masking a giggle as cum rolled down her legs and onto the floor.

"You sure?" Oscar asked, oblivious to the fact that as he stood there examining his fingernails, Mike had Ginny pinned to the wall, murder gleaming in his eyes. He would kill her, no he would fuck her and then he would kill her.

 _Yeah,_ she mouthed, _you sure._

"Ginny Baker is a lot of things," Mike said, reaching down and hooking her leg around his waist. She threw her head back, stuck between a laugh and a mewl as his softening dick brushed her clit. "Some of which I'm not exactly sure I should say in pleasant company," he rut against her, hips moving at a pace meant to torture her as much as she'd tortured him, "but I assure you, she's fine."

Oscar laughed, shoving his hands into his pocket. "All right, good talk."

Mike hummed, teeth biting down on that spot on Ginny's neck that could pull a scream from her when she was too riled up to hold back.

" _Mike_ ," she squeaked, eyes widening as his hand pressed against her mouth.

"You say something?" Oscar called, his voice farther and yet still too close.

He lowered his hand slowly. "Nope. Now can I shower in peace?"

"Yeah, sure," Oscar answered, sounding distracted as he walked from the room. They waited, bodies intertwined and wrinkling, for another minute before huffing out mutual sighs of relief.

"I could kill you," he mumbled, mouths crashing together in a messy, soaked kiss.

"You're welcome," she shot back, "now can we please get out? I'm freezing."

* * *

Al was a stickler for routine. He was the first in the office every morning, and he didn't leave until he was sure that every one of his people was on their way home, exhausted but satisfied from a hard day's work.

So, imagine his surprise when instead of his own tired wheezes and the click of his car keys he heard a peal of giggles, the laughter familiar even though he couldn't put a name to the sound. He followed after it, eyebrows knitting as he found himself trailing the path that his two star players left, the scent of Old Spice shampoo lingering in the air. Mike and Ginny didn't seem to notice him, their hair wet and their arms brushing as they leaned towards one another.

"I'm gonna want that back," Mike grumbled, his gruff words in opposition to the grin playing across his lips. "And I'll need it by game day." Ginny reached behind her, fingers just grazing the lettering on the white of his jersey.

"Not until you wear my number," she answered, sounding so unlike the ballplayer Al saw everyday. She twisted, walking backwards and grabbing for Mike's hand. "And then we'll talk."

Al stopped, ducking behind a wall as his mind struggled to keep up with what he was seeing. Ginny tugged Mike towards his car, her lip catching between her teeth as he dropped his hands to her waist and backed her up against the hood.

"No more of that today," he murmured, "it was reckless."

"It was fun," Ginny retorted, "but fine. New ground rule."

"Amendment to an old one," he corrected, "what happens at home stays at home, including anything that requires us less than fully clothed."

"Deal," she said, arching an eyebrow, "want to shake on it?"

"You're going to be the death of me," he laughed, inching closer to her as she snaked her arms around his neck. "See you back at my place?" He murmured, Al's ears straining to hear them.

She tilted her head, a soft smile alighting on her face. "See you at home." One last kiss, and then she slid out from underneath him and over to where a car was waiting for her. Mike watched her go, and Al knew that look anywhere, had felt it himself the first time he laid eyes on his wife.

He fell back against the wall, his hand smarting from where the edges of his keys dug into his palm.

Al was a stickler for routine, amongst many things, but it wasn't his greatest trait. No, that was a nose for trouble. And this, this would be trouble.

* * *

"Amelia, I have a game coming up," Ginny groused, feeling like a pincushion with how much time had been dedicated to plucking, waxing, moisturizing and sticking her for the commercial that would be taking up the majority of her day. "And I don't know what a floor length gown has to do with coke."

Amelia circled her, gaze critical as she considered her client. "I already told you," she started, reaching over and picking at an imaginary imperfection on Ginny's arm, "the concept is relatively simple. You're at a party, drinking champagne, bored out of your mind, and then you order a coke and suddenly it's a rave at a pool."

"And you're sure about this?" Ginny asked warily, yanking at the train behind her. "Because first, this seems strangely reminiscent to the whole Pepsi thing, and second, I don't even drink Coke."

"Well," Amelia said, eyes bouncing between her phone and Ginny's face, "the Pepsi commercial was an idiotic mistake on the part of everyone involved, and we're both too smart for that. And it's good for your brand."

"I don't even know why they bother advertising," Ginny grumbled.

"Doesn't matter, you make millions regardless."

She stood, the gauzy fabric of her dress swishing around her legs. "Fine, but I need to be home by eight, the playoffs start in three days and I need to focus. No amount of money is worth losing the game."

"Got it," Amelia replied, pretending to not be annoyed as Ginny pretended not to see Amelia's crystalline blue eyes roll.

As far as an afternoon went, it wasn't bad. The extras were interesting, normal people as uncomfortable with the flowing gowns and starchy suits as she felt, buzzing from the apple cider that poured from champagne bottles and hyper from the sugary soda. They made her laugh between takes, and some part of her even enjoyed the moment where the scene switched and she could let down the carefully constructed curls piled on her head.

"You sure about this?" She asked, the slender arm of one of the other girls tossed haphazardly over her shoulder.

"Make it count," the director called with a grin, "we only get one take."

So Ginny waited for the cameras to roll, raised her glass to the hollers and cheers of the crowd, and then took off sprinting. And it felt just as amazing to fly through the air at twenty-five as it did when she twenty-three and overwhelmed. She burst through the water, pushing her soaked hair from her forehead, and accepted the coke thrust towards her.

"And…that's a wrap."

"It was actually pretty fun," Ginny babbled hours later, bouncing on the bed beside Mike and smoothing lotion over her arm. "God, you should have seen it."

"I think I will," Mike replied, the steady click of typing coming from his lap as he stared at his computer. "You know when it'll air?"

"They're going to try and get it going during the playoffs," she collapsed against his side, nudging his laptop off his thigh as she curled up beside him. "Something about synergy?"

"And Amelia?" Shutting his laptop, he took her by the waist and twisted, his arms keeping his weight from crushing her. She let out a gasping laugh, her eyes glimmering as he hovered over her.

"As insufferable as ever, but," she sighed, "she's good at her job. She was livid about my face, by the way. Wanted to sue the Padres, Al, Oscar, you, and then the people who made my cabinets." Mike chuckled, the bed creaking as he lowered himself inch by inch. "Oh no, absolutely none of that." She scolded, shoving him up and onto his side. "We have a game soon, you'll need your energy."

"I think I've proven I've got enough stamina for the both of us," he mumbled, his words lost against her neck.

"No way, Old Man. Win us a championship ring and maybe we'll have something to discuss."

"I'm holding you to that."

Ginny rolled onto her stomach, smiling as he nestled in beside her, and couldn't help but laugh. "You better."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is with a heavy heart that I post this chapter. I haven't exactly known what to do since the cancellation, but writing this actually helped a little bit, if only because Fox can't take away my happy Mike and Ginny. Anyway, I'm going to keep writing this, and hopefully by my next chapter some other network will see Pitch for the gem that it is and snatch it up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the long wait. This was supposed to be part of a longer chapter, but stupid me got stuck in a stupid rut, so now here's some Padre team building and Bawson domesticity to tide you over until I figure out where I'm going!

Ginny wasn't just pitching a great game. For her, a great game was the ball zinging from her fingertips and straight to Mike's glove like it had no where else to go. No, today she was pitching like her body ached to float from the ground and the only thing grounding her to the mound was her ball. Her nerves were singing with it, the need that each of her three playoff game had been building in her blood, and today it seemed to be pouring out.

She blinked against the sweat dripping into her eyes, cheeks straining from the urge to smile. Two outs and the up to bat, a young Orioles who hid his nerves behind a cocky swing of his bat and a furiously chomping jaw, wouldn't hold up against her cutter.

If Mike would just call it.

She shook him off, cocking an eyebrow. It had been a dance that they'd become even better acquainted with over the last four games. She could feel herself settling into the reservoir of...well she wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it was whipping the behinds of everyone from San Francisco to New York. And Mike wasn't exactly receptive to the idea of her playing her own game, oblivious to everything around her.

She pitched, a blistering throw that brought a grin to her lips before it left her fingertips.

"Strike three!" The umpire exclaimed, "you're out."

With a sigh, Mike pushed up from his crouch, allowing himself ten seconds to shake out his knees before walking up to the mound.

"Let me guess," she started, raising her glove to her mouth to keep him from seeing her smirk. It would only serve to rankle him further, and if she wanted to stay in the game, she would need him on her side. "I'm done."

Rolling his eyes, he dropped the ball into her empty hand. "Last inning of the night, and I swear to God, Baker, you call me off again and I'll kick you off my field so fast it'll make you head spin."

"Big threats," she cooed, casting her gaze over to where the umpire watched them, nose crinkling. "But you want that ring just as much as I do."

"Ginny – " he grunted.

"You're the boss." She finished for him.

He bit down on his lip, torn between a scolding and a different sort of tongue lashing.

"Fine, your play," she conceded, "for the most part."

"That's all I ask."

She rolled her neck, eyes bumping against his back as he jogged back to home plate. Blowing out, she flicked her wrist, ball at the ready and begging to be thrown. She'd say let the games begin, but as far as she was concerned, it was already won.

"I don't know what happened to you out there, Baker," Al said not an hour later, clapping a hand down onto her arm, "but you keep pitching just like that and we may have a shot at taking this thing."

Ginny shook out her shoulders, that same hovering feeling messing with her focus now that her adrenaline was dying away. There was nothing to keep her on Earth now that the game was finished and her body was caught between bone-aching exhaustion and buzzing elation. "Just doing my job, Skip."

"A damn good one."

"Almost like the rest of us don't even need to show up," Tommy joked, draping a towel around his neck. "Least of all Lawson over there."

"You even get off the bench tonight, Miller?" Ginny shot back, her knee bumping against Mike's.

"You're cold," he replied, lobbing one of his shoes at her. "Ice queen."

"Brrr," she shivered, rolling her eyes at the laugh she'd earned. "Come on, I need a beer after all this 'hard work', and someone else better be buying. But first," she stood, "I'm gonna get changed. You guys gonna be gentlemen or do I have to find my own ride to the bar?"

"We'll wait," Blip slung his bag over his shoulder, "try not to take too long?"

"I'll do as I please."

"Right," he laughed, "come on boys, if we're gonna be here a while then I might as well show _some_ of you how to actually catch a ball."

"Lookin' at you, Salvi."

"Duerte's been running his mouth," Salvamani snarled playfully, throwing a quick punch at Livan and laughing as his newest teammate dodged.

"I'm a catcher," Livan sang, bouncing on his toes and weaving between the guys, "my job is _literally_ to catch a ball."

"Sounds like that's on all of our resumes," Miller grinned.

Coming up behind him, Livan snatched the hat from Miller's head. "Yes," he replied, his smile mischievous, "but I look best doing it, no?"

Blip's eyes locked with Miller's. "No," they cried together, Blip's arm locking around Livan's neck and tugging him forward. Mike watched them go, a chuckle caught in his throat. Turned out Ginny wasn't the only one buzzing with the rush of the last few hours, letting the last of it bubble over and into what could be an eventful night.

Maybe she was just the only one finished deflating.

Mike glanced at his girl, eyebrow cocking at her obvious fight to keep her eyes from fluttering close. "You don't have to go out."

"You," she stopped, mouth widening into a yawn, "are buying me my first drink." Ginny rested her forehead on his shoulder, a groan escaping past her lips. "After just a really quick nap." Straightening, she reached up and ripped her hair from its ponytail. "You're not trying to skip out, are you?"

"After a win like tonight," he rolled his shoulders, careful to keep his fatigue from mirroring hers, "no way."

Ginny nodded, rallying the last bits of her energy. "Come on then, Old Man. Let's get our party on."

Holding back a smile, Mike dutifully averted his eyes as she yanked off her jersey and left it in a puddle at his feet. She pulled up her leggings, wiggling her hips and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Slob," he murmured, slipping the warm fabric over onto the waiting purple hanger. She twisted, shooting him a smile before pushing her arms into the sweatshirt that had been hanging in the back of his closet this morning.

"You love it," she joked, toeing on her sneakers before whipping back around. She bit her lip, nose crinkling at the look he was giving her, unreadable in its openness, in the vulnerability that she wasn't exactly sure how to decipher. "What, I got dirt on my face again?"

He blinked, startling from whatever thoughts were unspooling in his gaze. "Um," he cleared his throat, "yeah." He pushed up from the bench, jaw ticking with the effort it took to mask his expression. "You ready?"

She took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, before nodding. "Yep."

The team stood by a row of idling cars, chatting amiably even as knees bounced and eyes snapped impatiently over to their watches. "Finally," Blip crowed, his lips stretching into a smile at the sight of Mike and Ginny walking towards them, seeming for all the world a pair of tired but happy teammates ready to celebrate their victory. Whatever it was he'd seen before the playoffs began had long since disappeared, a glimmer that he must have imagined.

And yet, the suspicion that had wormed its way to the back of his braid just wouldn't leave.

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny droned, nudged him from the door, "girls take forever, blah blah blah. You're getting boring, Blip." She tossed a wink over her shoulder, and Mike felt that familiar thrill of pride that always came when Ginny was just so… _her_ (strong, beautiful, defiantly willful whether on the field or ribbing her teammates).

"This is your fault," Blip grumbled to Mike, a smile twitching on his lips, "she was less of a pain before she met you."

"Come on," Mike came up behind Blip, tossing his arm over his friend's shoulder, "How 'bout I buy you some wings?"

"You're gonna buy me all the wings," Blip sniffed, following Ginny into the car and stretching out beside her.

"And a boatload of fries!" Ginny crowed, rubbing her stomach and letting out a moan that was nearly filthy.

"All right, settle down," Mike said, stopping the conversation before it devolved into a reading of the bar menu and Ginny drooling onto Blip's lap. "I'll feed you both if you pipe down and let me nap."

"You beautiful, aging bastard," Blip smiled, the edge of his knuckles rasping against Mike's chin.

The rest of the ride continued in the same vein, Ginny and Blip trading barbs as Mike rolled his eyes and slumped back into his chair.

"Hilarious," he said, cutting Blip off in the middle of what was becoming a particularly involved joke about nursing homes and sponge baths, and twirling his finger in the air. "Christ Blip, you think of these all on the spot or write them down for later?"

"A mix of both." Blip said after a moment of consideration. The car came to a stop, the squeal of the tires drowning out Ginny's horsey giggle. Traitor.

"Out of the car," he ordered, reaching over them both to push the door open, "now."

"Give him a break," Ginny leapt onto the curb, "his brittle bones couldn't handle him wandering into traffic, huh?"

"Really, the both of you, a bunch of comedians."

They found the rest of the team huddled together around a table with a waitress buzzing around them, somehow managing the chaos around her with a smile on her face. It was easy to see the space carved out for them, so Ginny plunked down into the nearest seat, grabbing at the closest menu once Mike had taken his place to her right.

"How can I help you guys?"

"Yeah," Mike said, an easy grin curving on his lips as the waitress leaned in close to him, "let me get three beers, an order of nachos and – "

" – Fries," Ginny added, craning towards him.

"All the fries you can carry." He winked, Ginny's hand warm on his thigh.

"That all I can get you, Mr. Lawson?" She asked, her gaze laser focused on Mike. Ginny quirked an eyebrow, feeling her back stiffen as Mike's smile seemed to stretch.

"Mr. Lawson," Mike repeated, brushing his thumb against his nose, "I like that. And yeah, I'm good."

"So good," Ginny drawled, "I'm okay too. Just in case you were curious."

"I'll be right back," the waitress, Savannah her nametag read, simpered, tucking her notepad against her chest.

"Seems someone's playing a completely different game," Voorhees whooped, watching wistfully as Savannah walked away. Ginny's eyes narrowed at the extra swing in her hips.

"And, from the looks of it, winning too."

Mike smirked, tossing an arm over the back of Ginny's chair and popping out his hips. "Not everyone can be the greatest catcher the game's seen. Duerte, you might want to take notice."

"The greatest?" Ginny asked, her voice ticking up as she bumped his arm from her seat. "I wouldn't say that, but the cockiest? Most definitely." She crossed one leg over the other, lips pursing as he inched in closer to her.

"You wound, Baker."

Ginny let herself be pulled into the conversation beside her, only looking back to her smug boyfriend once Savannah sashayed back to the table, setting Mike's order down with a giggle and fluttering lashes.

"You let me know if you need _anything_ else," she cooed, setting a lingering hand down on Mike's shoulder. "Anything for a Padre."

"Sure thing," he replied, "but you make sure you take care of the rest of my team, all right? You know, all us Padres, we're family."

"Of course." With a nod, Savannah sprang away, turning to shot him one last dazzling smile.

 _"Of course_ ," Ginny echoed, nose flaring as Mike bit back a laugh. She waited until the rest of the guys were distracted before closing the space between them. "You are in so much trouble."

"Can't wait," he shot back with a wink.

* * *

"You were jealous!" Mike cried from the bathroom, toothpaste dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"Was not!"

"Were too," he spat into the sink, tapping the edge of his toothbrush against the faucet. "My fan club doesn't do it for you anymore, but Savannah from Joe's suddenly got you foaming at the mouth?"

Ginny glanced up from her cell phone, her glare loosing some of it's steam as her lips ticked up into a smile. "If anyone was foaming at the mouth, it was you neanderthals as Savannah offered to _serve_ you."

"Serve _us_ , baby," Mike grinned, crawling onto the bed beside her, "or did you forget the fries?"

"Nope," she batted at his chin as he tried to sneak a kiss, "nor did I forget how she came to the table a staggering ten times to ask if you needed anything else. Another refill on an already full drink, some extra ketchup, maybe some under the table action?"

"You're so jealous," Mike snatched her phone and dropped it onto the comforter, his chest warming at the sound of her squeal as he gathered her in his arms. "It's pretty cute."

His lips slotted into the hollow of her neck. "I'm a grown woman, Lawson. Attractive, hot, a fucking sex goddess!"

"And unbelievably adorable, Baker, deal with it."

She twisted, draping her legs over his and snaking her arms around his neck. "And if I were just the tiniest bit jealous," she started, adopting the flirtatious look Savannah had worn the entire evening, "you would make me feel better?"

With his head cocked to the side, Mike pressed a soft kiss to her upturned chin. "Let me answer your question with a question," he countered. "How would I go about that?"

"Quite easily." She pushed him back, her thighs resting on either side of his hips.

But just as she was about to go in for the kiss, she paused, eyes searching his face for the minute shift in expression that had flashed across his face just seconds before. He'd masked it just as quickly as it had appeared, a near decade of chronic pain finally working in his favor, but she'd spent too long watching him, first to idolize him and then because she couldn't help but look back at him the same way he looked at her. Sometimes it felt like she knew his tells better than she knew herself.

"What's going on?" She asked, hair falling over her face and tickling his cheeks.

"Well, I think it's called foreplay, Baker, but you tell me."

She'd been too focused during the game to really catch it, but with a recap reeling through her mind, she couldn't help but take note of each grimace and frustrated scowl. It had been a great game, but there had been moments where he couldn't quite stifle the pain, where his swing came up short or a throw just slipped past his hand. Where he wasn't as quick, as assured.

And he'd tried to bring that edge over to her mound. Nope, they both wouldn't get through the playoffs like this.

She sat back, a frown marring her lips. "You're hurting. And don't you dare lie."

The muscle in his jaw jumped as he matched her frown, pushing up and doing nothing to hide his wince. "No more than usual."

"And now usual means more pain?" His shoulders bounced as he shrugged. "All right," she jumped off his lap, "no more of that."

"Come on," he cried, arms flopping at his side, "I've still got a few more rounds in me."

Ginny shook her head, pulling back the covers and staring pointedly at the sheets below until he huffed out a sigh and followed suit. "Tomorrow, we're going to the clubhouse early and you're going to see a doctor."

"So, what? They can try to pull me?"

"Or," she shot back, "you don't break a hip with all your posturing."

"Good to know I'm dating a doctor know."

"You won't be dating anyone if you don't listen to me." She switched the lights off, sliding in beside him and turning onto her side. "Don't be stupid."

"I liked jealous Ginny better. Bossy Ginny is a pain in my ass."

"Better than in the back."


End file.
